


The Gradual Redefinition of Family

by StripedSunhat



Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, All the fun different ways you can screw a child up, Earn Your Happy Ending, Families of Choice, Gen, Hard life decisions in the name of the greater good, Picking up Family as you go, Poor life decisions in the name of the greater good, Why Agatha needs therapy, Why Gil needs therapy, Why Sparks need therapy, Why Tarvek needs therapy, everywhere, genuinely supportive relationships, the two aren't mutually exclusive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-19 12:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14873724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripedSunhat/pseuds/StripedSunhat
Summary: Family is a tricky beast at the best of times.  It shapes us and informs our worlds and it's vital and painful and never fixed.Glimpses of how family has influenced Agatha, Gil and Tarvek.  How it has shaped them, and how they have defined it.





	1. Agatha

**Author's Note:**

> So I swear none of this was jossed when I first posted it on FF.net. But now that I'm cross-posting it it is. But I want to keep both versions the same so enjoy some slightly-sideways-from canon!

Agatha is just barely three.

She's been raised her entire life by Geisterdamen.

There is a stranger in front of her.

The stranger in front of her is not Geisterdamen. She can't imagine anyone more different from them than the stranger in front of her. For starters he's male. He's wide where they're thin, tan where they're pale (just like Agatha!), bark-brown hair where theirs is moon-white (even darker than Agatha's own. She didn't know hair came that dark), lumbering where they're agile, loud where they're quiet. All she's ever been around is Geisterdamen. Agatha stares at him in unchecked fascination. He stares back at her just as intently.

He's trembling a little. And crying. Agatha cocks her head to the side. She's never seen any of the Geisterdamen cry before, and they usually yell at her when she does. It never makes her feel any better. Sometimes Lady Vrin used to scoop her up into her arms. That used to help a little. The stranger's awfully big. Agatha doesn't think she can scoop him up. Maybe a hug would work okay.

"Would a hug make you feel better?" she asks

The stranger lurches a step back and starts talking in a strange language Agatha doesn't understand. He sounds upset. He's trembling even worse and crying a lot now. Agatha decides to try a hug anyway.

She walks forward and wraps her arms around him. All she can reach is around one knee. The stranger goes perfectly still for a second then scoops her up and returns the hug. That must mean it worked! He hugs very hard but that's okay, some people hug harder than others. He's also still crying a little but that's okay too, Agatha thinks.

He pulls back and strokes Agatha's hair. It feels nice. He's still speaking his funny made-up language, trying to talk to Agatha in it.

He starts walking, still holding Agatha, still talking to her. Agatha doesn't think much of it. She's never been around strangers before; she doesn't know she's supposed to be scared when a stranger starts walking away with you. She doesn't see any Geisterdamen. She doesn't think much of that either.

They pass a dead Ghost Spider on the way out. They should stop and give it a proper mourning. She tugs on the stranger's arm and tells him so. He doesn't stop. Agatha supposes one of the others will do it later. They keep walking. Agatha falls asleep in the stranger's arms.

She will not remember any of this when she gets older.

She will have always been raised by her Uncle Barry up until he leaves her behind.

* * *

Agatha is not quite four.

Uncle Barry nudges her to closer to the two strangers in front of her.

"Agatha, these are my old friends. This is Pu- Adam and Lilith Clay. Adam, Lilith, this is Agatha." Lilith is trembling a little. It reminds Agatha of… something. She's not sure what. Maybe that little white dog she saw last week?

"Master Bill's?" she asks. Her voice is trembling too.

"Yes," Uncle Barry's voice says above her. They start talking in hushed tones and Agatha tunes them out, choosing instead to stare at Adam.

"Why are you so tall?" she asks him. She makes sure her voice is extra loud so it can reach all the way up to him. Uncle Barry and Lilith stop talking and stare at her. Then they both start laughing. Adam looks like he's laughing too, but no sound comes out. She'll have to study why.

"She sounds just like the master," Judy says between laughs. Her voice is still trembly and it makes her sound like she might stop laughing and start crying any second. Agatha frowns up at them.

"It's a perfectly valid question given the average height of everyone else. He's the clear outlier." For some reason that sets them all of again.

"Wouldn't you be the outlier?" Lilith asks, "Given how short you are?"

Agatha frowns even harder. "I don't count. I'm not done growing yet, so my proper height can't be added yet."

"You're right of course. I'm sorry." Her voice doesn't sound trembly at all now. Lilith crouches down closer to Agatha's level and sticks her hand out to shake. "It's very nice to meet you Agatha."

Agatha glances up at her uncle to make sure it's okay before grasping her hand. "It's nice to meet you too."

* * *

Agatha is five.

Her head hurts.

Uncle Barry is really sad all the time lately. Agatha doesn't know why. He seems sadder when he's looking at Agatha. She'll have to ask Lilith about it. She adds it to the list of things to talk to them about when they're all done yelling.

Adam and Lilith had arrived this morning. It had been ages since they left, almost two whole weeks. Agatha had been so excited to see them she'd almost forgotten her headache. She'd run straight up to them, which had proven to be a mistake. The floor had swum around her and Adam had to catch her to keep her from falling. “What’s wrong sweetheart?” Lilith had asked.

“My head hurts,” she’d admitted

Lilith had looked up at Uncle Barry. He hadn’t joined Adam and Lilith in running over to her or crouching down next to her. “The Geester Damin?”

Geester Damin? Gistertehmen? Agatha should know this; she’d just heard Lilith say the word. But her head had been throbbing and everything had been blurry and it had been so hard to focus. Adam had been there, cradling her in his arms and rubbing gentle circles on her back with one giant hand. It had felt nice and it was the first time in days her head hadn’t hurt, so she’d just let herself… drift.

Eventually she’d tuned back in; Lilith hadn’t looked panicked any more. Instead, she’d looked angry. When Agatha had looked up Adam had looked angry too. Adam had set her down on the floor and stomped over to loom over Uncle Barry. Agatha never forgets how tall Adam is, but she thinks Uncle Barry might sometimes. Uncle Barry certainly remembered it right then.

“Agatha, sweetheart,” Lilith had said, still glaring at Uncle Barry even though her voice is as nice and friendly as it always is with Agatha, “I promise we’ll catch up in a little bit, but first we need to have talk with your uncle. Stay out here; it won’t take long, okay?”

“Okay.” Lilith had turned and given her a funny-looking smile then she’d grabbed Uncle Barry by the collar and hauled him into the other room, Adam following and shutting the door behind him. That’s when the yelling started.

Agatha gets up to take a nap.

Maybe her head will hurt a little less when she wakes up,

* * *

Agatha is eight.

Uncle Barry is packing to leave. That in and of itself isn't that surprising. They move all the time. They've only been in this town, for example, for less than two months. Uncle Barry's only packing for himself though. That's not all that unusual either. It would hardly be the first time he’d left her with Lilith and Adam.

He was gone a really long time last time, months and months and months, and Adam and Lilith had started getting worried. Agatha hadn’t though. She knows her uncle always comes back.

So she watches him pack and fetches socks and socket wrenches when he asks. Her headache is only a dull throb today and she can easily ignore it to scamper around gathering supplies. Adam and Lilith aren’t moving from their spot at the table and someone has to help Uncle Barry pack. He’ll forget clean shirts in favor of scrap metal otherwise.

When Uncle Barry’s all packed he drops his bag on the table and looks around the room. Eventually he turns to Adam and Lilith. “You’ll look after her, won’t you?”

“You don’t even have to ask,” Lilith says. Beside her Adam gives a solemn nod.

“You can’t let him find her.” Agatha doesn’t know who Uncle Barry’s talking about. She wants to ask but she knows he won’t answer her. Not when he looks like that – serious and worried and far away.

Lilith’s lips thin and her shoulders get straighter. “We won’t.”

Then Uncle Barry kneels down and gently grasps Agatha by her shoulders. “Promise me you’ll never take your locket off.”

“I promise.” It’s a promise she’s made many times over the years. To Uncle Barry, to Lilith, even to Adam.

“Promise me you’ll be good for Lilith and Adam.”

“I promise.”

Uncle Barry gives her a sad smile then leans forward and kisses her forehead. “Right,” he says, standing up and grabbing his bag. “I should only be gone a few months at the most. Stay safe.” He heads for the door. Agatha follows, stopping in the doorway as Uncle Barry picks his way down the path. Lilith and Adam come up behind her, each of them putting a hand on her shoulders. Together the three of them watch Uncle Barry as he walks out of sight.

* * *

Agatha is nine.

She’s not moving and Adam and Lilith can’t make her.

“Agatha–”

“No!” Agatha yells. “I’m not leaving! Uncle Barry won’t be able to find us if we move!”

“Sweetheart, your Uncle Barry’s smart, he’ll know we why we had to move. He’ll find us when he’s able to, but in the mean time–”

“No he won’t!” A burst of pain stabs through Agatha’s brain, the same way it always does when she gets worked up. Everything goes white and she has to clutch at the table leg to keep from collapsing. Lilith rushes over to her, but Agatha weakly pushes her away. She’s still mad at her. “We always do stupid things when we move like double back or rent two houses or use made-up names,” she says mulishly, “and I know it’s so nobody can ever find us. Except Uncle Barry’s not here. If we leave now he’ll be left behind.”

“Your Uncle Barry’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, him and your father.” Lilith reaches down and strokes her hair. Agatha’s still mad at her but doesn’t push her away this time. “He’ll find us Agatha, you’ll see.” Lilith’s face twists up at the last part, like she’s trying to smile but the muscles won’t work right.

“You don’t think he will.”

“Of course I do.”

“No, you don’t. Stop lying! You don’t think he’ll be able to find us either!”

“I – I don’t know if he will or not. But we can’t stay here.”

“Then we don’t do all of the doubling back and hiding. Or at least not all of it. So Uncle Barry can find us.”

“We can’t do that either.”

“Then I’m not going.”

Lilith’s expression hardens. “Well unfortunately it’s not up to you. Adam and I are your guardians and we say we’re moving so we are.” She stands up and pulls Agatha towards her room. “Now go pack.”

“If Uncle Barry can’t find us again it will be all your fault!” With that she slams the bedroom door as hard as she can, making the whole house shake. She slides down the door into a ball. Her head hurts.

* * *

Agatha is eleven.

Lilith and Adam keep having serious sounding discussions about her when they think she can’t hear. They’ve also started giving each other sad, worried looks when they think she can’t see. She knows they’re about her because Lilith and Adam are always really careful not to have them where Agatha can hear, and because of the snippets she could make out she’d heard her own name. Also Uncle Barry’s name and, a few times, mentions of her locket.

Maybe Uncle Barry’s finally coming back.

Maybe they found him and they need to go rescue him except they can’t take her because it’s dangerous and she’s too young. Maybe they’re afraid her locket would get broken if she went with them. Wherever he is it must be dangerous. It has to be, to have kept him away for so long. It has to be. Uncle Barry wouldn’t leave her behind otherwise. He wouldn’t.

Agatha fiddles with the little clank on the workbench. The last one blew up, but she’s got a good feeling this time. She’s been building a whole lot of things lately. It’s like she can’t stop. Her fingers itch and her brain skitters around itself in circles and pieces slot themselves together without conscious thought. Maybe she’s breaking through? Uncle Barry’s a spark, so it would make sense for her to be one too. And eleven’s really, really young to break through but Lilith always says Uncle Barry and her father were the smartest people she’d ever met and Lilith’s met a lot of smart people. So maybe Agatha would break through early then? It would explain the ever-present need to create, to improve, to invent. And it would explain why her clanks keep exploding; she hasn’t broken all the way through yet.

The door to the garage opens and Adam walks in, wiping his oily-stained hands on a rag. “Adam! Look!” Agatha brandishes the half-made clank. “It’s almost finished! And I’m sure it won’t blow up this time.” Adam grimaces, no doubt at the memory of the last one, but comes over and lets her explain.

She’s only about half way through when Lilith pops her head in. “Adam, could you give me a hand for a minute?” Her eyes land on the clank and she shares a worried look with Adam over Agatha’s head. “You’re still wearing your locket, right sweetheart?”

Agatha resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Of course I am.”

“Good. That’s… good.” Lilith hovers in the doorway for a few seconds, sharing another look with Adam. He walks over to her. They both glance back at her before retreating to the kitchen.

Agatha ignores the looks. They just claim she’s imagining things whenever she asks. She turns back to her little clank. She wants to have something to show Uncle Barry when he comes home.

* * *

Agatha is seventeen.

She is a failure.

She’s clumsy and useless and scattered and she can’t think straight without getting headaches. She can’t do anything right. The only reason Doctor Beetle even took her on as a lab assistant was as a favor to her parents.

Nothing she ever makes is right and everything she tries to build blows up. She’s not a spark and it’s clear by now she was never going to be one.

Maybe that’s why Uncle Barry won’t come back.

* * *

Agatha is eighteen.

Her father is Bill Heterodyne.

Her father is Bill Heterodyne and her parents are dead.

Her parents, who raised her and loved her and cared for her. Her parents who are Punch and Judy, the Heterodyne Boy's construct companions, who loyally followed them on every quest, who never stopped serving Bill and Barry Heterodyne.

Who are her father and her Uncle Barry.

Because her father is Bill Heterodyne.

And Punch and Judy served the Heterodynes.

And now they're dead.

Agatha's parents are dead.

Agatha sits curled in the tiny airship with Krosp and tries to wrap her head around the previous day. She's not doing a very good job of it.

A few days ago she was no one. A failure and an orphan whose uncle had left her and who couldn't build anything right without it blowing up. Then she'd started building things that worked, up on Castle Wulfenbach. And Gil Wulfenbach had called her a spark, and she hadn't been a failure any more. Gil had been interested in her and she'd flirted with him (had that been flirting? She thinks it was flirting) and he'd flirted back. He'd been impressed by her. By her clanks. And then her parents had shown up and she wasn't an orphan any more either. Except maybe she still is since both Bill and Lucrezia are probably dead. And Lilith and Adam are dead. She's even more of an orphan than before.

But she has a family name. She has a cousin, Theo, who's sweet and smart and has promised to meet back up with her later. But he isn’t here now, and Agatha is alone again.

She is a Heterodyne. She has no idea what that means.

* * *

Agatha is eighteen.

Her mother was the Other – is the Other.

Her mother is in her head.

She’s certain there’s a freak-out worthy of the one she had over her father waiting in the wings but it’s just going to have to take a backseat for now because she’s got more important things to deal with first.

Mainly that her mother is in her head and wants to take over her body completely and use it to restart her invasion.

And that. Is. Not. Happening.

If she can just keep Heterodyning, keep thinking, she should be able to hold her back, not forever but she doesn’t need to. She just has to hold out until her message is finished, until the Baron can get here. After that, well, at least everyone else will be safe.

She leans further back against Tarvek, not because she trusts him but because she can't afford to split enough focus from repelling her mother to stay upright on her own and he's here and offered and a perfectly serviceable backrest, so…

She can do this. Her mother won’t win.

She can’t.

* * *

Agatha is eighteen.

So the circus is going to England with Wooster and she’s going to Mechanicsburg. They’ll be safe and together and Agatha won’t have destroyed _everything._ She has her mother in her head and the Other is back but she is going to _fix it_. And she can’t do that from England.

It’s strange, being the one who’s doing the leaving. She wonders if this is how Uncle Barry felt.

The door is kicked in before she can worry too much about it. Zeetha walks in, arms laden down with clothes, tools, weapons, an assortment of random junk and oddly enough half a chocolate cake. “Okay! This is as good a time as ever to start work on a new part of your training.” She dumps the entire lot onto Agatha’s bed. “Tell me what we’re bringing and why. Afterwards I’ll correct you.”

Agatha blinks, missing the last sentence, her brain still caught on the previous one. “We?”

“I’m coming with you,” Zeetha says, like it’s obvious.

“If it’s because I’m a Heterodyne, then you don’t have to–”

“It’s not because you’re a Heterodyne,” Zeetha cuts her off. “It’s because you’re my zumil. We are family. Where you go, I go. Now, tell me what we’re going to pack.”

“Prioritize the concealable weapons and any unique raw materials,” Krosp advises from where he’s suddenly materialized in the way only cats can at the head of the bed. “Add a few basic or more specialized tools if you have room but you’ll be able to get those once you arrive. Same with clothes. Be sure to put my jacket in though. At least when we first get there it will be better for me to masquerade as an ordinary cat.”

Agatha swallows past the lump that’s suddenly formed in her throat. She’s not used to this. People staying. She isn’t quite sure what to do with it. “Right,” she manages, “anything else?”

“The jägers are raiding the galley, so there’s no reason to have the cake here at all.”

Zeetha rolls her eyes. “Of course there is. The cake we eat now.”

* * *

Agatha is eighteen.

She is the Heterodyne.

Around her the Doom Bell echoes, driving into skulls and seeding all-encompassing despair. People fall to their feet, laid low from the ringing. Those who don’t continue forward to pay homage.

A part of her mind – the small, stupid part that ruled her for so many years under the locket – screams that this is too much. And as much as Agatha hates it, she almost has to agree. This isn’t the same as Dimo and Maxim and Oggie following her, where she was still hiding. This isn’t even the same as the Castle acknowledging her, where she had a preset plan and a clear goal. In there her title had seemed less… massive. She knew what she needed to do and her title was just another tool, a handy way to keep the Castle from squishing people she didn’t want squished. But out here she has no fixed plan, just a town that needs her.

She is the Heterodyne.

The Doom Bell lets out one final peal. The sound sinks into her bones. It grounds her in a way nothing else has before. This is her town. The Doom Bell rings for her.

Vanamonde, reclaiming his bearings, bows low, the elders of the town – her town – bowing as well.

“Welcome home, Lady Heterodyne.”

Well, she certainly can’t do worse than her ancestors. And either way, it’s her show now. Maybe that’s what being a Heterodyne is. Whatever you’re planning to do is what the Heterodyne is supposed to do solely because that’s what you’re doing.

She can work with that.

* * *

Agatha is eighteen and has lost two and a half years.

Two and a half years.

There’s so much she’s missed she can’t even wrap her head fully around it yet. Her town has been frozen, her people have been driven underground, Tarvek has been hurt – but _not_ dead, she refuses to believe that, and Gil–

She wasn’t there.

She wasn’t anywhere.

Agatha watches Maxinia play with some roughly made colored blocks. She’s a lot cuter when she’s not angry. Or punching you. Agatha missed her birth. She missed Lilith finding out she was pregnant, she missed helping her get ready for the baby, she missed greeting Maxinia into the world.

Agatha’s a stranger to her.

Maxinia looks up from her blocks. She holds one up. “Ruda!” she proclaims happily. The block is in fact a red one.

“That’s right, it is a red one,” Agatha says, mindful of the baby talk this time. “Do you want to collect all the red ones?” Maxinia gives a small happy gurgle that Agatha takes as assent.

“You’re good with her.” Agatha nearly leaps out of her skin, still not used to the sound of Adam’s voice. That’s another thing she missed, Adam’s first words.

“At least she hasn’t punched me again.”

“Maxinia doesn’t like anyone at first. But she’s warmed up to you quickly.” He gives her a gentle smile. “She must recognize her sister.”

Agatha’s heart lurches painfully in her chest. “How can she? I wasn’t here.”

“You’re here now.”

“For tonight.” And only tonight. Tomorrow she heads out to fix her town. Tomorrow she leaves.

Adam understands. He’s always understood. He wraps her up in a hug. Even now, after so long away from the shop, he still smells the same as he always did – grease and metal and warmth. “You aren’t abandoning anyone. And you aren’t going to be gone forever. This isn’t your last chance to play blocks with your little sister.” Agatha smiles. It’s a little watery, and maybe accompanied with a few sniffles, but neither of them are going to say anything.

“You’re right.” She reaches down for one of the red blocks. “But it might be my last chance for a while, so I’d better make the most of it.”

She’s lost two and a half years.

But she hasn’t lost everything.

* * *

Agatha is eighteen.

She is not eight years old any more.

She is not eight years old and watching Uncle Barry walk away from her. For one thing she didn't get to see Krosp before he left. _"I've got some stuff to do. Tell Agatha I'll see here again when it's done."_ No timeline, no explanation, not even a real goodbye.

Agatha shakes her head and tries to focus on the scenery rushing past her. She's not eight years old any more. She's not a helpless, stupid child left waiting. If Krosp takes too long she'll simply go find him herself. She can do that now.

Besides, she meant what she'd told Wooster. Krosp is very smart and, more importantly, he's a cat. Whatever trouble he's stirring up, she's confident he'll come out of it unscathed, even if no one else does.

The glow of Paris's lights fill up the window. Closing her eyes against it, she files Krosp into the same category as Gil and Tarvek. Not here, not with her, but not missing either. She gathers herself up to embark and lets herself focus on the task at hand. All her boys will be fine until she can go collect them back up. In this at least, she has faith.

* * *

Agatha is eighteen.

"You rescued Dr. Vapnoople?"

Krosp, standing in front of her surrounded by his bear army, refuses to look anything resembling sheepish or defensive, or anything that might indicate he’s anything but completely in the right. Of course he doesn’t, he’s a cat.

“I couldn’t leave him in the heart of the Wulfenbach Empire. It wasn’t safe.”

“I’m sure Gil wouldn’t–”

“ _Gil_ might not, but that still doesn’t make the _empire_ safe,” Krosp says. He looks up at her, eyes slightly softer, but shoulders even more rigid. “Besides, we both know that Gilgamesh isn’t Gil all the time right now.”

Agatha sighs. She’s still not quite ready to admit to herself just how lost Gil is. “We’re working on it.”

“I’m sure you are. But for the moment it means the Wulfenbach Empire isn’t one we can trust. The caves where the rest of your people are hiding out should be safe enough.”

“Of course. I’m sure Adam and Lilith will watch over him.”

Krosp merely nods as if this is the only expected action. Again, cat. “I plan on sending the bears with him, so if you could, send some sort of letter or message with them so your people won’t attack them.”

“You aren’t going with them?” The look Krosp gives her says volumes about his opinions of human intelligence relative to cats.

“I want my poppa safe. And this way he will be. You however are still my subject and need my guidance.”

“I’ve been doing alright,” Agatha says, crossing her arms.

“You nearly burned down half of Paris.”

“It worked out!” Krosp merely raises a fluffy eyebrow before visibly turning away from the subject.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any fish on you?” he says, slipping back into his old spot like he hadn’t been gone at all. Agatha’s not sure why it’s that question that makes her scoop him up and hug him, but it is.

“I’m sure we can find some.”

* * *

Agatha is nineteen.

Tarvek dismounts the (possibly stolen) dirigible and walks up to her, dragging Gil behind him. As surreptitiously as possible, Agatha checks her pocket deathray. The last time she’d been close to Gil… hadn’t ended well. “I,” Tarvek begins, slightly imperiously, although there’s bags under his eyes that ruin the effect, “have fixed him.” He then hurls Gil by the arm straight at her. Both their reflexes are battle-trained enough that they don’t so much as stumble when they collide with each other. Agatha, taking on faith that fixed means what she thinks it means, throws her arms around Gil.

She can feel the tenseness of his muscles beneath her fingers, ready to use the last of his will to throw himself away from her should the situation become murderous. Seconds tick by. Gil trembles then finally melts against her. “Agatha.” Agatha laughs. It’s high and trembly and threatens to become a sob any moment but that’s okay. She has Gil back.

“You did it,” she says turning to Tarvek. She grabs his collar, peppering his face with grateful kisses. “You did it, you did it you did it.”

Tarvek smiles and kisses her back. “Of course My Lady.” He pulls back far enough to shove at Gil’s head. “Besides we couldn’t just leave it up to him. If we’d done that he’d have accidently exploded his own head.”

“Hey!” Gil exclaims. Tarvek keeps going like he didn’t hear him.

“Hopefully we can keep him out of more trouble now.” The comment prompts a real laugh from Agatha. The idea that any of them could manage to stay out of trouble probably verges on reality bending, and not in the spark in a fugue kind of way. But they’re finally together again. Right now that’s all that matters.

* * *

Agatha is nineteen.

Skifander is beautiful.

She can see why Zeetha missed it so much. Not that she thinks Zeetha missed it only because it’s beautiful; it’s her home. Ever since they’d first fallen through that portal and Zeetha recognized the jungle they’d landed in it’s like she’s been alive in a way Agatha’s never seen before. Zeetha has dragged them to every temple, training pit and childhood hideaway in the city, babbling excitedly the whole time. Not that Agatha minds; it’s fascinating getting a glimpse of a Zeetha she’s never seen before through her home.

It’s not like that for her and Mechanicsburg. She loves her town so much it hurts, but she wasn’t raised there. There are no special nooks yet, no old favorite crannies. It didn’t shape her except with its absence.

Gil has thrown himself into the place as much as he can. He seems determined to make it a part of himself before they have to leave again. His actions remind her Mechanicsburg more than Zeetha’s. The feeling of rightness, of intrinsic belonging, even though you’ve never been there before. The difference is he actually gets a chance to explore his town. She can’t begrudge Gil the chance, but it makes her chest ache a little, to watch him explore his home while knowing hers is still trapped.

Everyone else is enjoying themselves as well. Tarvek’s slipped effortlessly into the place, acting with authority he shouldn’t technically have in a way only someone trained to rule from birth can. Violetta’s pestering every guard she can get her hands on about assassination protocols. Krosp is accepting offerings of food, as is his due.

Agatha, Agatha’s waiting for destruction.

Skifander is beautiful.

Agatha doesn’t want to see it ruined.

Zantabraxis walks into the room. According to Zeetha’s descriptions she’s dressed casually. She’s dressed for peace. “ _You have a very heavy face today,_ ” she says. “ _I would have thought you’d be down there with the others, not skulking about the royal chambers._ ” Her voice has the same sing-songy quality Zeetha’s gets when she’s more teasing than angry.

Agatha bows her head anyway. “ _I’m sorry, I was just lost in my thoughts. I didn’t mean to intrude._ ”

“ _You don’t have to be so formal,_ ” Zantabraxis chides. “ _And you could never intrude. You are my daughter’s zumil. Family._ ”

It’s a peaceful moment. It’s also ruined. An explosion tears through the edge of the city, big enough to shake the ground beneath them. Screams and more explosions quickly follow. Agatha whips around to see smoke pluming into the sky. Chaos has caught back up with her again. She grabs her deathray and turns back around, apology already on her lips, and sees Zantabraxis holding a sword and a dagger. The dagger in her hand is not one Agatha’s seen before and appears to be electrified.

“ _Well, it seems brought entertainment with you,_ ” she says, grinning wild and sharp. “ _Shall we go greet them?_ ” Agatha smiles back and hefts her deathray.

She hadn’t realized. Skifander might be beautiful, but it’s also as fierce and irrepressible as Zeetha is. It will not break because of her.

* * *

Agatha is twenty.

Her town is free again.

Finally free.

Parties and parades are breaking out on every street corner. Her people don’t really know what happened to them, but that’s never stopped Mechanicsburgers from celebrating their Heterodyne’s accomplishments. Besides they never got to celebrate finding a new Heterodyne and they’re now several years overdue.

Agatha takes as much time as she will allow herself to stop and join them. She makes a point to linger at every new group she comes across as she makes her way up to the Castle. She knows she won’t be able to stay. Her town is a stronghold, a base of operations, but if she wants to stop the Other she’ll have to leave it eventually. Probably sooner than she’d like. Actually, definitely sooner than she’d like. She’d only just gotten her town back.

One of the townspeople offers her a jug of cider. One of the jägers comes up and replaces it with something stronger. At a look from her Violetta swaps it out with something much, much weaker. Hopefully that’s what she swapped it out for anyway.

She’ll have to leave her town eventually but for now she enjoys being home. She’s got some time. And she never did get to explore her town. She hoists her glass and lets herself get swept into the crowd.

* * *

Agatha is twenty.

She’s almost entirely certain that the only thing that’s keeping Klaus Wulfenbach from physically trying to kill her where she stands are the dozen and a half jägers between herself and him. Even still she keeps her pocket deathray out and in her hand. Charging a small army of heavily armed and extremely belligerent genetically engineered super soldiers wouldn’t be the most reckless thing he’s ever done. It probably wouldn’t be the most reckless thing he’s done this month.

For now though he seems willing to limit himself to scowling at her. “What are you doing here?”

“Zeetha told me where to find you.”

Klaus’s scowl deepens. “That doesn’t answer the question. Why are you here?

Agatha doesn’t answer. She rummages through the shelf behind her to avoid looking at him. A small metal box covered in delicate wiring and gold in a truly fascinating conducting pattern catches her eye. “What’s this?”

Klaus strides across the room and snatches it out of her hand. “Don’t touch that,” he growls. There’s a half a dozen jägers between the two of them in the blink of an eye.

“What is it?”

“It was Bill Heterodyne’s.”

“My father’s,” she says, because she’s really tired of Klaus constantly bringing up Lucrezia while simultaneously ignoring her connection to the parent she’s actually proud to be related to.

Klaus’s hand tightens dangerously on the box. “What. Do. You. Want?”

“I’m here to ask you back.”

Klaus blinks. “What?”

Agatha does her best not to fidget. She’s already come all the way here, no point getting cold feet now. “We want your help fighting the Other. You studied her technology for years. You’re probably still the foremost authority on her.” She sighs and rubs at her eyes with her free hand. “Look, I probably shouldn’t let you know this but even here, as far out of the way as we can get you you’ve managed to do a lot of damage while trying to get your empire back. We can’t afford to fight you and the Other. And I know in the end you don’t want her to win any more than we do. So we can keep circling around stalemating each other or we can help each other.”

“No.”

Agatha stumbles, thrown. “What do you mean no?” she demands. “Do you want to see Europa burn?”

“No!” Klaus yells back, the first emotion other than barely restrained distain he’s shown the entire meeting. “But I will if it means protecting my son.”

“Well so would I!” Agatha yells back. It’s gratifying in a distant sort of way to watch Klaus take a step back at her words. Mostly though she’s too angry to really feel anything else. “But this won’t protect him! Nothing you’ve done has protected him! If anything it’s done the opposite!”

“Mistress?” one of the jägers asks hesitantly.

“I’m fine,” she says. She takes several deep breaths, trying to get herself back under control. Her gaze falls back onto the box.

Klaus had been her father’s best friend once. It’s so easy to forget that.

In another life she would have called him uncle. He would have shown her, if not the same protectiveness he felt towards Gil, at least something similar.

Klaus has apparently regained some of his composure. He’s started glaring at her again. She has no doubt he’d kill her right now if he could. There’s nothing else she can say. When she reaches the doorframe she turns back to Klaus anyway. “I will burn the world down to keep my family safe. But given the choice, I’d rather it didn’t.”

* * *

Agatha is twenty-one.

The Other has been defeated. Her mother is gone.

When Tarvek had declared the last traces of her purged this morning it had almost seemed like a dream, wavy and not quite real. There’d been a breathless, endless moment when she’d taken her necklace off, waiting to be dragged under, waiting for Lucrezia. But then nothing had happened. No fight, no struggle, no desperate, futile attempts to hold on, nothing. Just her.

Just her and no Lucrezia.

She’d thrown her arms around Tarvek and positively tackled him with a kiss. Celebration immediately erupted. Agatha had felt lighter than she had in years. She’d laughed and sung and kissed Tarvek and Gil and danced with a whole line of jägers. The last of Lucrezia Mongfish had been destroyed. She was finally well and truly gone.

Now she stares up at the ceiling, suddenly thrust into consciousness and unable to return to sleep. The night air is quiet and calm. Around her arms hold her without trapping her. Everything is soft and muted in the way only nighttime can be. Everything that is, except her.

Giving sleep up as a bad job she carefully extricates herself from the bed. A walk will help.

The manor they’re staying in – one of Tarvek’s family member’s, now his – is silent almost to the point of feeling dead. It doesn’t have the reassuring presence of Castle Heterodyne or even the ever-present hum of Castle Wulfenbach’s engines. Here, in the dark hallways away from the gentle, even breaths, it becomes a tomb not a home. Tarvek only inherited it because his cousin died – threw his lot in with Lucrezia and paid the price. When Agatha spots a warm glow under one of the doors she practically sprints to it.

On the other side is Lilith, siting on a couch with a pile of mending. “Agatha?” she asks, putting down the little sweater she’s fixing. “I thought you were in bed.”

“I was,” Agatha says. “Couldn’t sleep.” Lilith pats the empty space next to her and Agatha wastes no time going over to her. The two of them sit in silence for a few minutes, Lilith sewing and Agatha fiddling under the pretense of sorting.

“Alright,” Lilith says, putting down the now fixed sweater, “What’s wrong?”

For a moment Agatha doesn’t answer, instead looking across the room at the bed where Maxinia’s asleep. She’s gotten so big. Finally she musters up the courage to ask “Lilith, am – am I a bad person for being glad she’s gone?”

Lilith doesn’t need any clarification about whom she’s talking about. She wraps her arms around Agatha, pulling her to her side and rubbing her arm like she used to do when Agatha was little and had a nightmare. “No. Not at all.”

“But–” Agatha flounders; trying to put into words what she’s feeling. “She was my mother. And she’s gone, forever. Because of us. We destroyed her. And I can’t feel anything other than happy. And free. And she was my mother, but all I want to do is celebrate her death. Shouldn’t I feel something?”

“That woman,” Lilith begins, sounding very firm, “was not your mother. She was a monster and a murderer and she would have killed you without a single regret. So no, you are not a bad person for wanting her gone, or for being glad she is.”

Agatha nestles further into her side, soaking in her presence. “Thanks.”

The locket in her hand catches the light. She’d picked it up without thinking about it when she’d left the bedroom. It feels strangely cool, even now when body heat should have warmed it, as if it one last wisp of Lucrezia is haunting it. Lilith gives a sad sigh and gently plucks it from her grasp. She opens the main compartment where amazingly the two portraits have somehow survived everything.

“We really did do a horrible job teaching you about your parents didn’t we?”

“No! Of course you didn’t Lilith! You and Adam–” Lilith gives her a look and Agatha falls silent, well-meaning untruths drying up.

“A man who’s still more myth and story to you than anything else and a monster. Not much of a keepsake is it?”

Agatha takes it back, opening the other compartment to expose the delicate gears and clockwork. “Zeetha, she once told me that it reminds me that I’m strong. That any warrior would cherish a symbol like that. And it does remind me of that, for the most part, but also, it was something of a security net. A reminder that Lucrezia couldn’t get out. I’m not sure what it is now that she’s gone, but I do know it’s still important to me. After all this time, I don’t think it ever won’t be.”

“Then perhaps it’s time we get new pictures for it.”

Agatha smiles and nods. “Maybe my real family. Maybe you and Adam and Maxinia.” Her brow furrows. Zeetha should probably be there too. Violetta too. And Gil and Tarvek of course. And Krosp would be insufferable if he was left out. And Theo’s her actual blood cousin, so he deserves space too. She might have too much family to fit in her locket. Ooh! What if she–

“Or perhaps pictures of your two young men?” Lilith interrupts her thought process, cutting her off before she could start cannibalizing the locket. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you, Gilgamesh and Tarvek all retired to the same room. Or that you’re wearing Tarvek’s shirt. And Gil’s pants.” Agatha immediately turns bright red.

“Lilith!” Lilith just laughs and hugs her closer.

* * *

Agatha is twenty-one.

The world is not at peace, but it is stable.

Gil and Tarvek are safe. Her town is safe. Her family is safe. The empire is safe, or at least as safe as it ever gets according to her boys.

The empire is under their control. Tarvek, recently crowned as the Storm King, Gil, well established as the Baron, and of course herself as the Heterodyne. The Lightning Throne. Castle Wulfenbach. Mechanicsburg. Three very powerful symbols, possibly the most powerful in the world. Where those forces should be at odds with each other, would be under anyone else, they instead worked side by side. Boundaries were allowed to blur. Armies and resources intermingled. Authority was freely acknowledged even in the heart of another’s territory. One empire, temporarily masquerading as three.

The world is not at peace, but it will be one day.

Agatha leans against the parapet, staring out over her town. Behind her the door opens and Gil and Tarvek come outside. She pushes herself up and turns her hands so they’re facing upwards. It’s all the invitation they need. They flank her sides, interlacing their hands with hers in almost perfect sync. Together the three of them look out at the horizon. Agatha can’t think of anywhere she’d rather be than right here between them.

She takes a step back, pulling at both of them until they’re side by side facing her. She squeezes their hands and without any further ceremony says, “We should get married.”

Gil looks stunned. He’s got a little, slowly growing half-smile on his face, but other than that is completely frozen. It’s like his brain isn’t processing what she’d said other than it was good.

Tarvek looks like someone just handed him every dream he’d ever had. It reminds her of how he’d looked when he’d first ascended the Lightning Throne. Although, she likes to think his smile wasn’t quite as big as it is now. He brings her hand to his lips, bowing over it and pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her knuckles. “It would be my honor, My Lady,” he murmurs against her skin.

Gil’s brain has apparently finally finished translating. He captures her lips in a kiss that leaves Agatha slightly breathless. “As if you even have to ask. Of course. Always.”

As he moves back his gaze locks with Tarvek. They stare at each other for a second and Agatha holds her breath. Her boys can still be stupidly stubborn sometimes. She doesn’t want to ruin their engagement by having to break up an argument. But instead Gil smiles and reaches his free hand towards Tarvek’s own. Tarvek meets him somewhere in the middle, where it’s hard to tell who reaches further and it doesn’t really matter either way.

The world is not at peace yet, but it is theirs.

* * *

Agatha is twenty-three.

She’s not sure if she’s going to be sick or start laughing or burst into tears. Instead she’s doing none of those things. She is in fact sitting quite calmly – to the outside observer at least – with a book on her lap she’s not reading but is at least open.

The door opens with a bang. It’s only when Agatha jolts at the sound that she realizes how deeply she’d spaced out. Maxinia comes stomping in in a strop only a six year old can properly master. She throws herself onto the couch across from Agatha, folding her arms and pouting at the table. “Your husbands are both stupid,” she declares.

“Oh? What did they do?” Gil and Tarvek have something of an informal competition between them over who’s Maxinia’s favorite brother-in-law. It mainly involves a lot of smuggled candy and generalized bribery.

“Gil won’t let me test his new flying machine. And Tarvek won’t help me steal it.”

Given that Gil’s newest flying machine is still somewhere between ‘highly dangerous’ and ‘likely to spontaneously combust midflight’ it’s probably for the best. “Tell you what,” Agatha says, because she’s long since learned if she doesn’t offer something else now, Maxinia will just ask her for whatever it is she’d been denied, then pout even harder if she says no. “How about tomorrow we take one of the glass dirigibles out and have a floating picnic, just the two of us?” Fortunately Maxinia seems to like the idea because she immediately brightens. Agatha returns to staring past her opened book.

“Are you alright?” Maxinia says all of a sudden.

“Huh? Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You had a really weird smile on when I came in. It’s just come back again.” Agatha blinks. She touches her face and finds that yes, she is in fact smiling. “And now it’s even wider. Stop it.”

“Maxinia,” she asks, “How do you feel about becoming an aunt?”


	2. Gil

Gil is only a few days old.

He is so, so very loved.

The bed he’s on is soft. Next to him his sister is curled up asleep. Her hand is caught in his. Above him his parents are smiling down at them. His father brushes his fingers through Gil’s hair and then Zeetha’s. His mother leans down and presses a kiss to each of their brows.

The world is gold. Light streams through the gauzy curtains. Everything is gentle and warm.

The bed he’s on is soft. He’s sleepy and Zeetha’s even breaths next to him are soothing. He curls closer to her and falls asleep. Above him their parents keep watch.

He will not remember this. Not the bed, not the light, not his sister’s gentle breaths, not his parents keeping watch. All he will have when he gets older is a feeling he can’t explain and a certainty he can’t shake that he is so, so very loved.

* * *

Gil is a little over a month old.

He wants his sister.

She is not here.

He wants his mother.

She is not here either.

He clings tighter to his father, waiting for him to turn around.

He doesn’t, instead pushing further into the jungle.

Eventually they reach a huge, glowing mirror in the air. Colors swirl the center, turning their reflections blue and red and green and gold. For one single moment, Gil forgets how upset he is, reaching for it. It’s so pretty. Then his father steps through it. It’s a lot less pretty and a lot more scary from the inside.

They step out the other side and the mirror disappears entirely. The air smells like smoke and the jungle is gone. Gil doesn’t know where they are any more.

His father hugs him tighter and starts walking away from where the mirror had been.

He wants to go home.

* * *

Gil is six.

He has no family and no friends.

He’s been brought to live at the new school on Castle Wulfenbach. He doesn’t belong there. Everyone else has family, everyone else is important. He’s a no one and nobody knows why he’s there and everyone knows it. They don’t let him forget it either.

He wonders how long it will be until there’s no more room and he’s kicked out of the school. He wonders if they’ll shunt him to some other part of Castle Wulfenbach like he was before the school was finished or if they’ll throw him off the airship entirely.

* * *

Gil is seven.

He has no family and one friend.

Tarvek is great. He’s smart and funny and really sneaky-clever. And best of all he’ll actually talk to Gil. Not order him around, not insult him, but have an actual conversation. And okay, maybe he can be really bossy, but he’ll stop and listen whenever Gil has an idea. And even if most of the time he says they’re stupid, sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he’ll say they’re brilliant and then he’ll stop and stare at Gil like he’s missed something. And sometimes, sometimes he’ll see a way to make Gil’s idea better. That’s when they really get going.

Across the room Tarvek chats with some of the other kids, effortlessly charming them in a way Gil never manages. He catches sight of Gil and gives him a small, easily hidden smile. He makes the signal they’d come up with to ask if he was okay, masked as a careless wave and waits until Gil signals ‘fine’ back before turning away. Gil grins to himself and goes back to his plans to sneak mimmoths into the Lackya quarters.

When they’re caught a week later in the midst of the chaos Tarvek’s smile is huge. Gil’s is even bigger.

* * *

Gil is seven.

He's standing in the record vaults on Castle Wulfenbach, trying hard not to think about anything. The records, the very thing he'd risked every punishment he could imagine to find, stare back up at him mockingly. His family is all dead. His father had been a rural spark and he'd accidentally killed everyone else, including himself, when he broke through. Gil was lucky he'd been inconsequential enough to be overlooked; it had saved his life. Gil had had a family. That's something.

But it doesn't make him any less alone. If anything, it steals away the last of his hope that he might not be.

Tarvek is standing across from him, watching him, all of his pity carefully masked. He doesn't say he's sorry. He would never do that. He knows Gil would never want him to do that. He reaches out and grabs Gil's shoulder. Gil wrenches himself back out of his grip. Tarvek doesn't follow. He doesn't keep his arm out. Tarvek only ever extends his hands with a purpose, never an invitation. The gap between them is only a few steps wider and looks impossibly far. The record keeps sitting there, reminding Gil how alone he is. Gil stumbles forward, closer to Tarvek than before. This time when Tarvek reaches out again Gil doesn't shake him off. He still has Tarvek. That's something too.

Gil has a family now. It's what he'd wanted. It's why they're in the vaults. Gil knows who is family is now. Somehow it only makes him feel worse.

* * *

Gil is seven.

The Baron looms over him.

Gil tries fidget and looks as innocent as possible. They aren’t in the office he interrogates students in, which is big and empty and makes Gil feel like an insect on an experiment table. This is the Baron’s private office, smaller and cluttered and somehow a thousand times worse. Gil’s gaze keeps being drawn to a dagger on the shelf behind the Baron’s shoulder. He doesn’t know what he could have done to get himself in this much trouble. Maybe they’re finally going to kick him off Castle Wulfenbach. Tarvek would stand up for him. He’d try to keep Gil. Right?

Tarvek Sturmvoraus has been caught inside the records vault.”

“What? But we already–” Gil cuts himself off but it’s too late. The Baron stares down at him. “It was all my idea. It’s my fault Herr Baron, not Tarvek’s. I was the one who wanted to sneak in. We were trying to find out about my family. Tarvek was just being a friend.”

“You were looking up your records? Did you find them?” The Baron demands sharply.

“Yes,” Gil says, nodding.

“And Prince Tarvek was with you?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly did you find?”

“Um, not a lot. Technical sketches of my father’s sausage making machine that killed him and my mother. A chemical breakdown of the sausages. Interviews with the townsfolk. Medical notes about me. There wasn’t much there to find.” The Baron keeps staring – glaring really – before closing his eyes and letting out a long breath through his nose. When he opens them again he looks, well, slightly less angry at least.

“And yet Sturmvoraus was caught going back.”

“I– I don’t–” He doesn’t know why Tarvek went back. Maybe he wanted to look at his own records. Or maybe he’d seen something while they were in there. Or maybe he wanted to take advantage of knowing how to get into the vaults to look up other students. Tarvek keeps a lot of secrets.

“Your defense lines up with your actions. While still a serious violation of rules, it is – understandable – I suppose, to want to know about your family. However, that defense does not hold for Prince Tarvek. It’s clear he was the true perpetrator of wrongdoing here. Since you were clearly coerced, I am willing to grant leniency for your part in exchange for any information against Prince–”

“NO!” Gil yells, panicked. He’s halfway out of his chair before he realizes it. He forces himself to sit back down before he continues, fighting to keep his voice calm. “I was the one who came up with the idea to break into the vaults.”

The Baron stares at him again. The silence hangs uncomfortable and heavy before he finally breaks it. “It’s possible that he went back to the vaults alone to try to find out more about you. It’s also possible that was his plan the entire time.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Then why didn’t he tell you he was still investigating?”

“He– He –” Gil falters. He has no answer for that. Tarvek would have told him if they hadn’t found everything. Right?

“You have to tell me the truth. For your own protection.”

Gil straightens in his seat. “It was all my idea,” he repeats. The Baron stares at him like he can see the lie. Gil drops his gaze to the table. A minute ago it wouldn’t have felt like one. But now all he can think is that while he’d been the one to first mention it, it had been Tarvek who’d brought it back up a week later. Tarvek who’d come up with an actual plan to break in.

“Gilgamesh –” the Baron finally says with something of a sigh. Gil doesn’t know if he’s ever heard the Baron call him by his first name. Tarvek’s the only one who does that. “The official records state that you are the son of a minor rural spark who killed himself and the rest of his family breaking through. That is a lie.”

“What?”

“It is a lie I put in place to protect you until you were older. But it has become clear that now I have to tell you the truth so that you can understand why you have to protect yourself. The truth is that you are my son.”

Gil can’t breathe. He can barely think. The records are a lie. He has a family.

“Now,” the Baron – his father – says, leaning forward on the desk, “Tell me the truth about the vaults.”

* * *

Gil is nineteen.

He's been poisoned, technically speaking, but only a little bit, so he doesn't see why everyone has to act so freaked out about it. It wasn't even an assassination attempt; it was just a rouge spark's work with biological contaminants going horribly wrong. And anyway he's fine. Or at least he will be. Just as soon as he can feel his toes.

Okay so maybe he's still a little loopy but his point is he's fine, certainly nothing to warrant armistice levels of panic. Because that's the only way to explain Tarvek Sturmvoraus and Bangladesh Dupree in the same room with no weaponry in sight. Granted, both are more than capable of creating weapons out of nothing – Bang especially – but they're also not fighting each other. In fact they seem to be working together. Gil is mildly disturbed.

"I'm fine."

"You are not fine," Sturmvoraus snaps back, "you got yourself poisoned."

"Only a little. And not on purpose."

"Because that makes it so much better."

"Actually, yes."

"You are an idiot. How could you think that makes it better?"

"We don't have to go hunting for assassins for one thing."

"Booooo!" Bang calls from where she's sitting in the corner, watching their argument like it's a dinner show. Somehow, Gil's not going to ask how, she's even found popcorn. "Hunting them down is half the fun!"

Gil tries to lever himself up on his elbows to argue with him properly. Tarvek notices immediately and rushes over and pushes him back down. "Holzfaller, for the love of sanity, lie down and shut up." Gil doesn't want Tarvek to call him Holzfaller. Gil wants to hear him call him by his real name, not that childhood lie his father had created. Actually, Gil wants to hear him call him by his first name. Gil wants to know if Tarvek will still turn the 'i' into two syllables when he's annoyed. Gil… is apparently still slightly more delirious than he thought. He lies down and shuts up.

“Sweet lightning you actually listened to me. You must be worse than we thought.”

“Get wound Sturmvoraus,” Gil grumbles. “Why are you even here?”

“I was happened to be nearby when you collapsed the lab. And then when you decided to imitate it. You might be willing to leave a man dying on the street but I’m not.” It is quite possibly the worst barb Sturmvoraus has ever thrown at him, clearly not even intended to hit a target. It’s also a horribly transparent excuse. Gil casts a questioning glance at Bang, who shrugs.

“I dunno why either,” she says, finishing her popcorn. “But he’s good at the sciency, medical part so I’m not complaining.”

Tarvek sniffs so haughtily Gil’s surprised he doesn’t hurt himself. In retribution Gil tries to sit up again.

The rest of the night is spent holed up in whatever medical lab it is that Tarvek had managed to steal. Once Gil’s a bit more clear-headed the night is actually almost fun. He snipes back and forth with Tarvek with increasingly less heat, until it’s almost – not quite, but almost – like when they were kids. Bang teases both of them from her spot and limits herself to only mildly traumatizing Tarvek. It’s nice.

He’s catches himself feeling grateful his father isn’t present. He tells himself it's because his father being here would mean being shipped back to Castle Wulfenbach or a full contingent of guards at all times or some such nonsense. It has nothing to do with the way it’s never as comfortable with his father as it is now.

The next day finds him back in his own apartment. Dupree leaves to go report the incident back to the Baron. Sturmvoraus pointedly avoids him and pretends the night never happened the next time Gil finally sees him. Gil doesn't bother telling either of them about the side affect of the tightness in his chest when he's alone. It'll go away eventually. It always does.

* * *

Gil is twenty-two.

He’s apparently back to having no friends.

He turns back to his half-finished letters, now more inkblot than paper. Why does he even bother to keep writing these? If they haven’t written back by now they never will. He could trick himself into thinking they’d write back eventually when he first arrived, he could even ignore it and pretend as weeks turned to months and eventually years. But he’s returning to the castle next week. More ink falls on the page and Gil crumples it up and throws it in the trashcan with more force than is really necessary.

It’s good practice for the future. He’s going to be the Baron some day; he certainly won’t have time for friends then. Best to get into the habit now.

He has Bangladesh. She’s at least loyal if nothing else, and amused by him, which guarentees she’ll stick around more than anything else.

He has Tarvek. True, he’s left to return to Sturmhalten but at this point Gil’s accepted that like it or not the fop will end up back in his life again at some point.

A deranged psycho under the employ of his father and a spineless weasel.

Yeah, that’s really something there.

* * *

Gil is twenty-two.

The woman he could have loved for the rest of his life is dead.

It’s stupid. He’d only just met her. There’s no real way to know if what he felt was real, if it would have lasted. But Gil can’t help but feel that it would have. Agatha, that bright, firey, audacious young woman who would yell at the Baron’s son and run into a horde of slaver wasps had been everything he could have ever dreamed of. Everything he never even knew to dream of.

And just like that, it’s all gone.

She’s dead.

“Master Gil?” Wooster sticks his head into the doorframe, pulling Gil from his thoughts. “Is now a good time?”

“As good as ever I suppose.” Wooster takes that as a sign that it’s clear and steps fully into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Is everything done?”

“Yes. There was no problem smuggling them up there and I set up everything you asked for. But there’s not a lot to work with.”

Gil waves him off. “That’s fine. I can manage.”

Wooster apparently feels the need to press because he stays rooted where he is. After a moment he finally says “Are you sure you still want to? I know Punch and Judy were once legends but –”

Gil cuts him off. “They were her parents.”

The woman he could have loved is dead. The very least he can do is honor what she would have wanted.

* * *

Gil is twenty-two.

Agatha is alive.

She is alive and it’s a miracle and she must have tricked them and she’s alive and brilliant and she is alive and well and not dead and Gil still has chance, he can help her, he can do something – anything – to keep her alive and safe.

Agatha is alive and the world is turning as it should again.

* * *

Gil is twenty-two.

His father is offering him a deal.

It is a deal with the devil if he ever heard one.

He shouldn’t take it. He shouldn’t even think about it. He’ll break out eventually. But eventually is not fast enough. Who knows how long it will take to break out, how much help he’ll be able to give once he’s free, how much destruction his father will reap in the meantime.

Or.

He can take the deal his father’s offering him.

He can buy Tarvek some time.

He can buy Agatha some time.

And he already knows he’ll do anything and everything he can to help her.

* * *

Gil is twenty-four.

Agatha is back.

Now the world can start turning like it should.

* * *

Gil is twenty-four.

His father thinks he should kill Tarvek. That comes as no surprise really, Gil’s pretty sure his father’s wanted to kill Tarvek on and off since Gil first befriended him back when they were seven. Heck, maybe even before then.

Gil takes another look at the map of Mechanicsburg. They’ve been focusing on the Cathedral. His people are certain that’s where Tarvek last was before the time bomb. And while he wouldn’t put it past the weasel to somehow have made it all the way across town just to annoy him, the Cathedral was also the last place in Mechanicsburg Agatha had been seen. That alone makes it a likely candidate for where Tarvek is.

His father wants him to kill Tarvek. He’s annoyingly persistent about it. A little buzzing voice (except not, except so much bigger and louder than that because it’s his father and he’s never done anything small or quiet) in the back of his head that will not shut up.

The tunnel’s holding well. He’s sure Agatha would have some fantastic suggestions on how to improve it but she’s still out of reach and on the run, so he’ll have to make due. The appropriate traps and rumors have been set and circulated to catch any traitors. Those he can manage just fine on his own thank you very much. They reach the Cathedral and locate Tarvek’s inside with no problems. Tarvek himself though, he poses a problem. The idiot had gotten himself stabbed. In the chest. And Tarvek says Gil can’t go anywhere without finding trouble.

His father’s demanding he kill Tarvek. It makes no sense. Agatha, he can understand. His father’s dead wrong, but at least Gil knows how he got there. But part of whatever his father stuck in his head is to protect the empire against Lucrezia. Freeing Tarvek is the best shot they have for gaining an upper hand on her.

The knife, as it so happens to turn out, is poisoned. Honestly if this keeps up, Gil’s going to kill him himself. The git can’t just expect Gil to save him every time he gets poisoned. And of course it’s a compound that no one’s ever seen before. Because Tarvek can never do things simply, can he. This is going to push back his retrieval, which honestly is the last thing Gil needs to deal with.

His father’s trying to get him to kill Tarvek. His fingers skitter against the page, twitching without his approval. Gil curls his hand into a fist to stop it. He hates the spiraling feeling of his control being ripped away. He hates it, but he also doesn’t have time for it. His father can try all he wants, Gil does not have time to lose, so he won’t.

Gil very deliberately opens his hand. He lets his finger trace the line of data, keeping track of his place as he triple checks the formula for his antidote. Tomorrow they free Tarvek.

* * *

Gil is twenty-four.

He’s dimly aware of Krosp and Higgs still in the corner of the room but he’s not really registering anything past their existence. He’s not really registering anything other than the small, intricately carved dagger Zeetha had found behind his father’s desk.

The one Zeetha had just said her mother had given to her father, Chump.

Zeetha’s fingers have curled around the hilt tight enough to turn her knuckles white. “Chump left when I was just a baby. I didn’t think he’d have kept anything from Skifander.” She sounds – he’s not actually sure. Hurt? Angry? But not surprised.

“You knew,” Gil says, voice suddenly flat. Zeetha – his sister. Blue fire, he has a sister – looks over at him.

“I… suspected.”

“You knew Klaus was your father. You knew I was your brother! And you never said anything!” When Zeetha doesn’t reply he demands, “Why not?”

“I didn’t want to be certain and then be wrong.”

“And just like that Gil can feel all his anger instantly deflate. “I– I can understand that.”

Zeetha’s hand uncurls and then recurls around the dagger. “Did he really not tell you anything about us? About home?”

“Nothing.”

“Even after he met me in Sturmhalten?”

“He recognized you in Sturmhalten?”

“I think he did. At the very least he knew I was Skifanderian.”

“The closest he ever came to telling me anything was a warning you’d try to kill me,” Gil says, feeling well-worn irritation creeping up on him. “When I asked him what he did he said he ‘kept me alive.’”

Zeetha is silent for a long moment. “Our father,” she finally says, “is an idiot.” Gil raises an eyebrow at her to indicate she should continue. “Twins aren’t considered a good thing in Skifander. Kind of the opposite really. Our father probably took you because he was afraid you’d be killed. But mother never would have let that happen. And she definitely never would have sent anyone to kill you, let alone me. With the hope of finding you maybe, bringing you home, but never to hurt you.”

“Yeah, well,” Gil says, doing his best to stomp any bitterness out of his smile, “paranoia’s always been father’s go-to mindset.” All of a sudden Zeetha throws her arms around him. “What–”

“I just realized I hadn’t done this yet,” she says against his shoulder. “I found my brother, who I already like, and I hadn’t hugged him yet.”

Zeetha hasn’t put down the knife yet. The flat of the blade digs into Gil’s back. He lifts his hands and returns his sister’s hug.

* * *

Gil is twenty-five.

He wakes up with a throbbing headache and Dupree sitting at his bed.

“Welcome back.” Gil looks up at the pirate’s unusually solemn face. The sight sets off a whole slew of warning bells but that might just be the headache talking.

“Bang? What happened?”

“The Baron,” she says simply. Apparently they’re officially past the point of pretending about it. “What do you remember?” The warning bells intensify. He never knows what his father does when he takes full control. From what he knows, it’s mostly the same for Agatha whenever Lucrezia comes to visit. Bang has to know this. For her ask–

“Not a lot. What happened?”

“Uh-uh. What you remember first.” For about half a second Gil considers ignoring her and demanding answers again. Instead he forces himself to take a deep breath and think back.

“I was on the ground when he took over. I must have been knocked out if you were able to get me all the way back up here. Um… Agatha. Agatha was there. She was working on… She was working on a new idea to free Mechanicsburg. And she wanted my opinion on it. Her Jaggers weren’t there. You and Zeetha and Violetta were a ways away dealing with… something. I sent Higgs away to help you. Or maybe he did. Umm…” He rubs at his eyelids, trying to focus. His sleeve is wet. He opens his eyes. His sleeve is wet and _red_.

“What. Happened?” he demands, his voice cracking with fear.

“Agatha’s fine,” Bang immediately promises.

“This is Agatha’s blood.” It’s not a question but he still desperately hopes for a denial he knows isn’t coming.

“She’s fine,” Bang says again. “You barely even nicked her before she realized what was wrong and knocked you unconscious. Your girl’s got an arm on her.”

Bang’s doing her best to act flippant but there’s still Agatha’s blood on Gil’s sleeve. Gil closes his eyes and makes a decision.

It takes him three hours to convince Bang he’s back to normal enough to get her to leave him alone. Then he has to gather all the supplies he needs and smuggle them into an unused medical dirigible. A few more hours traveling and then even more time searching are wasted before he finds Tarvek. Gil all but drags him onto the airship, ignoring the sputtering protests as he tosses him aboard and starts the ship back up. Only once they were fully in the air does he bother to turn around to face him.

Tarvek stands next to the exam table brandishing a heavy wrench, more for atheistic than as an actual weapon since he didn’t even try to stop their take off. “What in the hell are you doing Wulfenbach?”

Gil takes a deep breath. He taps two fingers against his forehead pointedly. “The Baron managed to actually hurt Agatha.” That’s all he needs to say to have Tarvek’s complete undivided attention. “We need to _fix_ this.”

Tarvek sets the wrench down. “Okay.”

* * *

Gil is twenty-five.

Because he somehow just has the best luck in the whole world, he’s managed to get separated from everyone else when they went through the multicolored mirror. He has no idea where any of them are. He doesn’t even know where he is anymore. Some kind of jungle.

He picks his way as carefully as he can through the foliage and tries not to think about how he’s broadcasting his position to anything interested for miles. Zeetha would be so disappointed in him. At the very least he’s gotten better at concealing himself.

“ _Stop where you are if you value your life_ ,” a voice behind him said. In Skifanderian.

Slowly – he does in fact have some sense of self-preservation, despite what some others might say – he turns around. There’s a woman half crouched behind him, pointing a very sharp sword at him. The hand that doesn’t have the swords holds a throwing knife that Gil’s not going to kid himself about her ability to use. Still slowly he lowers his deathray to the ground then raises his hands. He’s not going to get himself killed in his mother’s homeland by being an idiot.

The woman rises, though she still keeps the sword and knife at the ready, and steps into the small, somewhat more open space between them. She’s older. Now that he can get a proper look at her he can see the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. She’s probably about the same age as his father, though she holds her years better than he does. Her temples are shot through with grey but most of her hair is the same shade of green as Zeetha’s.

Which, hadn’t Zeetha mentioned that her particular shade is fairly rare? Her eyes are the same color as Zeetha’s too. And now that Gil’s looking he can see that she’s dressed in something resembling what Zeetha described as traditional royal garb. There’s even the scar on her arm Zeetha told him about from an assassination attempt.

His hands fall to his sides. “ _Mother_?”

The woman’s eyes widen and her face goes pale. “Meten,” she whispers. Gil… does not know what that word means. He strides forward only to be met with the point of a sword. He ignores it.

“ _Mother it’s me. It’s Gilgamesh_.” The sword at his throat wavers. He can understand that; he doesn’t feel terribly steady himself. “Father took me to Europa,” he says, slipping out of Skifarderian but he can’t be bothered to care right now. He’s still learning and it’s not like there’s been a lot of time for language lessons between everything else. “He thought it would be safer.”

The sword is lowed completely. “Gilgamesh,” his mother says, staring at him. “You’re actually here.”

“Um,” Gil rubs the back of his head, suddenly not all that eager to meet his mother’s eyes. “Not, actually on purpose. There was this big multicolored mirror that I think is actually some sort of teleportation device and we might have accidently activated it.” He scans the forest, straining for any sign of movement. “Zeetha and the others are probably around here somewhere.”

“Zeetha,” his mother breathes, “Your sister’s here too.” Gil remembers how long Zeetha had said she’d been lost. He tried to picture what his father would do if he came back from being missing for so long. She must feel like both of them are ghosts.

“Yes,” he says trying to put as much reassurance into the word as he can. “She and our friends fell through too. I got separated during the trip, but I think they ended up together.”

His mother nods once sharply. “If your sister’s with them then they’ll head to the capital. We should go meet them there.”

Gil nods back, trying his best to make it as composed as possible. This wasn’t a place he’d ever thought he’d get to see. His mother wasn’t a woman he ever thought he’d get to meet.

For a long moment neither of them move, frozen staring at each other. Then his mother reaches up and cups his cheek.

“ _Let us go home._ ”

* * *

Gil is twenty-five.

He stands next to his mother, watching the spark-fueled commotion as Agatha and Tarvek send minions scuttling every which way around the portal

They lapse back into silence for a few minutes. Below them minions scamper from one end of the courtyard to the other. “ _And you’re sure you’re alright with Zeetha coming back with us? You just got her back._ ”

“ _I just got you back too,_ ” she says pointedly, before taking pity on him and continuing. “ _As much as I’d love for her to stay, she has duties in Europa. She’s needed there. Besides, it’s not forever. I know you’ll come back to me eventually. Provided I don’t come over to Europa and visit you first._ ”

“ _I’m surprised you never came after us before._ ” It’s perhaps a tactless comment, too many ways it could be read wrong, but he’s never been good with tact. It’s a trait he’d always thought he’d gotten from his father.

“ _All but the one your father used to leave were generated in Europa and your father made sure there was nothing left of his machine other than rubble._ ” He’s since learned there’s just as good a chance his bluntness comes from his mother. “ _I trust you won’t be doing that when you leave._ ”

“ _No!_ ”

“ _Son, I get the feeling you’re more upset about your leaving than I am._ ”

“ _I just– I feel like–”_ Gil scrubs his hand across his face. _“I don’t want to just leave like Father did._ ”

Comprehension floods across his mother’s face. She doesn’t say anything for a moment and when she speaks again it’s quiet. “ _When your father took you I didn’t know what had happened only that you were gone and there were so many things–._ ” She cuts herself off, mouth a thin line. “ _When your father left he snuck away in the night like a thief. Now, what part of this,_ ” she waves toward the courtyard, “ _seems sneaky to you?_ ” He has to admit she has a point. A crowd has gathered to watch the progress. “ _You are very much not your father._ ”

Gil fights back the hysterical urge to laugh. “ _I can think of several people who would disagree with you._ ”

“ _You would never do everything your father has done._ ” The desire to laugh flees. Everything they haven’t told his mother burns in the back of his throat.

“ _Father’s done a lot of things he never would have done when you knew him. I’ve done things I never would have done a few years ago_.” He waits. For his mother to protest. For her to agree. Instead she nods toward the square again.

“ _You chose well,_ ” she says, echoing what she’d said when they first arrived. “ _Do you really think they’d let you go too far?_ ”

Gil lets his gaze drift back down. “ _I – No. I don’t think any of them would._ ”

“ _Then you don’t have to worry. I doubt they’re going to let you go anywhere without a fight._ ”

The laugh that wells up is much more real this time. “ _That I know is true._ ” He bumps his shoulder against his mother’s, letting it rest there. “ _I’ll still miss you though._ ”

“ _And I’ll miss you. More than you can possibly imagine._ ”

He should probably go down there and help them. But he thinks they’ll understand if he waits just a little bit longer.

* * *

Gil is twenty-six.

“You want to let him roam free,” Tarvek all but growls at him.

“No. But locking him in Castle Heterodyne’s dungeons won’t help anything.”

“It will keep him out of our way where he can’t attack us!”

“I can handle it.”

“Really? Because I remember you saying that last time and–”

“Enough!” Agatha shouts. “It’s my dungeon so it’s my decision.” She takes a long, deep breath. “Locking up the technical head of a friendly empire is not how I want to start off my rule. But,” she says, turning towards Gil, “I don’t think giving him free reign of your empire is a good idea either.”

“We need him. When it comes to the Other, he’s the most knowledgeable person in Europa short of Lucrezia herself. We need that. If I can get him to listen to me, or even just focus on the larger threat first–”  
Tarvek interrupts him, yanking his shoulder. “The last time I left you alone with him–”  
“I won’t be alone!”

“You said that last time too!”

“He hurt you.” Agatha’s quiet words cut through both their shouting. She steps closer and puts a hand on Gil’s cheek. “He _hurt_ you.”

Gil covers her hand with his own. “I’ll be fine.” No one believes him, but no one says anything either.

* * *

Gil is twenty-six.

He’d gotten really good at ignoring his father when the Baron was still in his head. The problem is that now that his father is actually free and around again _other_ people can hear him. _They_ still blindly listen to him no matter what. Even Gil at his most trusting never went that far. (And no, Tarvek is not allowed to weigh in on that assessment. Ever.)

He’s still carrying the note Agatha and Tarvek gave him before he left Mechanicsburg. It’s a list of names, all people in the employ of the Wulfenbach Empire. There are no other comments or annotations, but Gil knows what he’s been given. It’s a list of people more faithful to his view of the empire than his father’s. It’s a reminder he’s not alone up here, that he does have allies. He’s pulled all of them up to Castle Wulfenbach. At the very least it gives him some babysitters.

The soldier that runs up to him is not on his list. He is however wearing the familiar uniquely torn expression that most of the loyal crew adopted whenever they were dealing with contradicting orders from him and his father. “Herr Bar– uh, Herr Wulfenbach. Your father– uh, I mean, the Baron, um, the old Baron–” Gil waves his hand to cut off the confused attempt at titles.

“What is it?”

“Your father gave orders to move the Nineteenth Fleet.” Gil puts down the intelligence he’s been looking over. He can be at dispatch in three minutes.

“And did you?” Two if he doesn’t bother with the stairs.

“No sir. The commander didn’t want to move them without your approval since you’d been so clear that no one other than you personally was to be allowed to move that fleet.” He must not think that’s enough because after a second of deliberation he adds, “So Prince Tarvek couldn’t try to move them away from where you wanted them.” Right, because Tarvek, who’s miles away and putting his faith and quite possibly his life in the Nineteenth Fleet’s support is the risk here, not his father, who’s sabotaged almost every move Gil’s made.

“Make sure the commander knows that the fleet is to stay exactly where it is and he did the right thing. Out of curiosity, where did my father try to send them?"

“He ordered them towards Mechanicsburg, with–” the soldier falters. For the first time in the conversation he loses the torn look, instead looking vaguely ill. “With less than friendly intentions towards the Lady Heterodyne.”

“Where is my father now?” Gil growls

“In his office sir.”

“New orders. Find Gritha and Susa and tell them to meet me at my father’s office immediately. When that’s done, I want you to check every single troop movement. I want a list of any changes my father made, what their original placement was, where my father sent them and with what orders and whether those orders have been carried out yet. Any that haven’t, put a stop on until I can personally review it. Now go.” The soldier snaps off a sharp salute then dashes off as fast as he can.

When he reaches his father’s office he’s almost unsurprised to find it empty of anyone save his father. Probably for the best. No witnesses if he gives in and attempts patricide.

“You moved the Nineteenth Fleet.”

“I did. I take it you moved them back.”

“You sent them to murder Agatha.”

“I doubt they would have been successful. But it doesn’t preclude trying.”

Gil bites the inside of his mouth hard enough to taste blood to keep from shouting again. “We are not attacking her. That is not an option.”

His father’s scowl is downright murderous. “She doesn’t see you as anything more than a pawn. You’re the one who keeps claiming I needed to catch up on what I missed before taking any official action within the empire. I caught up quickly. And now I’m correcting mistakes I found while doing so.”

Gritha and Susa arrive before one of them – probably Gil – can get violent. “Herr Baron,” Gritha says, “We were told you sent for us?”

There’s a list of names in his pocket, people loyal to him. A reminder he has options.

“Yes I did.” He folds his arms behind his back and, as officially as he can, says, “There’s been another attempt on my father’s life. I got here just in time to stop it.” Gritha and Susa nod. Neither mentions that he sent for them before he got to his father’s office. Neither mentions that there’s no sign of any such attack. “There’ve been far too many attempts. At least for the time being we’ve decided it would be safer for my father if he was harder to get to. I want you to take an airship and take him somewhere away from the center of the empire. I expect a full protective detail to be set up.” He pulls the list from his pocket. “This is a list of people I know I can trust. I don’t want anyone not on this list to know about this.” Gritha and Susa have been with him too long to not know that isn’t his handwriting. They’ve spent too long around Agatha and Tarvek not to recognize whose handwriting it is. Gritha calmly folds the note in half and nods.

“Of course, Herr Baron.”

“Contact me as soon as you’re settled and secure. I want regular updates and at least one member of your team on Castle Wulfenbach to relay messages.”

“Of course Herr Baron.”

“No one outside of myself and your detail is to know where he is.”

“What about Princess Zeetha?” Gil pauses. Behind him he can feel his father stiffen at his daughter’s name. Another topic he refuses to be rational on.

“Don’t contact her, but if she asks let her know. I won’t stop my sister from reconnecting with our father. Now go. Use whatever resources you need but I want you to leave as soon as you can, by nightfall if possible.”

Susa tugs the paper out of her sister’s hand. I know where Woger is. We can get everything ready. Until then maybe Gritha should stay here with your father in case there’s another attempt.” All at once it hits Gil exactly what he’s doing, that this is his last chance to stop it.

“I think,” he says, “that would be best.”

* * *

Gil is twenty-seven.

He’d never realized just how much work getting married was. He knows better now. Granted, most people probably had an easier time of it. They didn’t have to worry about accidently triggering a war.

They should have just piled into a dirigible and found a little church somewhere years ago. Not only would they not have to deal with all this insanity now, they wouldn’t have had to dealt with everyone thinking they could turn the three of them against each other.

Gil leafs through the mountain of paper in front of him. They still need to decide if they are going to tour through the empire before the unification or after. After would make more sense tactically but it held the distinct disadvantage of spending the days immediately following their wedding in the company of people who largely want to kill them essentially daring them into making assassination attempts. Maybe they could have everyone come to Mechanicsburg one at a time in a show of fealty. It would keep the jägers entertained at the very least.

But then they wouldn’t be spending enough time in the former head of the Wulfenbach Empire and the Storm Kingdom. The last thing they need is a staged rebellion trying to ‘liberate’ the empires the Lady Heterodyne has subjugated.

He’s saved from going insane by the timely arrival of his sister. “Oh good,” she says once he’s recovered from the flying tackle that has become her traditional greeting, “you’re already dealing with wedding things. Then I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Hello to you too Zeetha. What’s up?”

“The jägers want to add a pledge of their own to the wedding ceremony. Apparently it’s been a while since there’s been a spouse they like enough to want to.”

“Coordinate a mass pledge from the jägers without everything dissolving into a riot. Right. I think I’ll stick Vanamonde in charge of that.”

“Nope! Not a mass pledge. It’s a personal one. Made by every single jäger. One at a time.” Gil stared at his sister’s grinning face. Maybe he could still get away with kidnapping his fiancées.

* * *

Gil is twenty-nine.

He’s not moving for anything in the world.

Well, unless Agatha wants anything. Other than that though, no reason short of an extinction level event could get him to leave his spot on the bed.

He wraps his arm more securely around Agatha’s middle, ever so careful not to squeeze in any way too tightly. In that moment the entire world is the sound of Agatha’s gentle breaths and the feeling of the warm skin of her stomach beneath his fingers.

That’s when the door opens, bringing in with it the rest of the world. Specifically, Tarvek, dressed in all the requisite frippery of a day of dealing with self-important nobility.

He raises an eyebrow when he catches sight of them. “What are you still doing in bed Wulfenbach? There’s an empire to run you know.”

“Agatha’s here.”

“Agatha’s allowed. You meanwhile need to help me run our empire instead of lazing in bed like a drunken libertine.”

Agatha giggles and burrowed deeper into the pillows. “What do you think that makes me?” she asks, barely audible. Gil presses a kiss to her shoulder with a hum.

Gil waits until Tarvek gives up and marches over to the bed. When he’s close enough Gil grabs his wrist and tugs him onto the bed replacing his hand on Agatha’s stomach and bringing Tarvek’s along with him. Tarvek squawks undignifiedly but immediately falls silent as soon as he feels the same Gil does.

“Is that…?”

Agatha smiles and nods. “Mm-hm.”

Gil settles back into the bed. Beneath their palms, the world moves. 


	3. Tarvek

Tarvek is four.

His mother is bleeding.

It’s too slow. He might be young but he’s not dumb. Alive people should bleed faster than that.

Anevka is standing next to her. Over her. She is covered in blood. For a minute Tarvek’s afraid she’s bleeding too. But she isn’t. The blood is mother's.

Tarvek makes a move to step forward before stopping halfway. His foot makes a scuffing sound on the stone. It’s quiet – Tarvek knows how to be quiet – but it’s loud enough. Anevka turns around.

Anevka is smiling.

It’s not a madman’s smile or a spark’s smile, it’s just – Anevka’s. It’s the same little pleased smile she gets when she wins at checkers which isn’t fair she’s older and has had more time to learn of course she’s better at it than Tarvek.

His mother doesn’t move. Won’t move, not ever again.

Tarvek doesn’t ask why. He’s not dumb. He won’t end up like Mother.

He will always remember this. He will always remember the gentle curve of his sister’s lips and the shine of his mother’s blood and locking every thought he had up behind his teeth and trying to smile back.

* * *

 

Tarvek is five.

Violetta stands next to the Smoke Knight on unsteady two-year-old legs. In the corner of the hall Anevka leans against the wall, her face arranged in a pretty, placid expression that means she really wants to scowl. Tarvek for his part stands in front of the knight, back straight and as tall as he can make himself.

“Your cousin Violetta has just passed the first part of her smoke knight training.” Has survived the first part of her Smoke Knight training they mean. “It has been decided that when she is older she will be your personal guard.” Violetta scowls. She’s never really liked Tarvek all that much. Not that it matters what she thinks. Illegitimate daughters of indentured branches of the family don’t get choices.

Tarvek ignores her glare and focuses on the knight’s words. A king needs a guard. Someone to spy and lie for him. Someone to prevent or carry out assassinations as needed. A shadow and a shield.

And in return he’ll take her with him. She’ll be by his side when he becomes king. True, she’ll still be a servant but at least she’ll be away from all of this. A king needs a guard. Violetta could be that guard.

“Thank you. I accept.” Behind the knight’s back Violetta sticks her tongue out at him.

* * *

 

Tarvek is seven.

He’s made a friend.

People in his family don’t have friends. But Tarvek does. Tarvek has Gil.

Gil is reckless and bossy and far smarter than he has a right to be. And he’s so open. Tarvek doesn’t think he’s ever even tried to hide his emotions on his face. He smiles at Tarvek because he’s happy, no other reason. There’s no hidden, secret angle to his friendship. And Tarvek knows he can trust that.

* * *

 

Tarvek is eight.

He is being sent home to his family.

Gil has abandoned him. It's a painfully useless fact to fixate on. But no matter how many other things he should be worrying about, he can't help but keep circling back to it. Gil had been his first companion outside of his family. He might have even been a friend.

But all that's gone now. Well at least it served to teach Tarvek a valuable lesson: outsiders are even more untrustworthy than family. Clearly being on his own is the best option.

He’s returning home in disgrace. That’s a very dangerous position to be in. Tarvek stares out the window and tries to scrape together the scraps of his self-control. He knows how to play this game. He’s not stupid. He’ll survive; he just needs to keep his head down and his eyes open until this is forgotten and disapproval shifts.

Tarvek returns to his family with a dozen schemes already forming in his mind and no one but himself.

* * *

 

Tarvek is twelve.

The Geisterdamen’s machine is finished. Whether or not it is operational is yet to be seen.

A slew of girls lay slumped and motionless around the main consol. The latest one is still sitting strapped to the chair. When Lady Vrin unhooks her she slumps forward bonelessly. Vrin tosses the girl over her shoulder without even looking at her. She lands with an almost sickening thud and her hand flies out to smack against the side of another girl. She doesn’t move.

“<Bring in another one,>” Lady Vrin yells at the other Geisterdamen standing ready at the edge of the room. Tarvek watches them leave and wonders how many girls they have. They’ve been steadily bringing in new victims for the last two hours without any pause. Where have they been keeping them until now?

The next girl is struggling when she’s pulled into the room. She’s blond. There’d been a marked preference for blonds in the first dozen or so girls they’d brought in; then they’d gotten progressively less picky as they went. So visual similarity to Lucrezia can’t be the only criteria they were using. The girl stops struggling, slumping in the Geisterdamen’s hold. “<Finally,>” one of them mutters, reaching for the straps on the chair. Then all at once the girl yanks her arms out of their grasp, kicking one of them in the knee and falling to the ground already scrambling. They go down in a flail of limbs that’s an insult to any form of training. The girl makes it almost halfway across the room before they start to catch up.

One of the Geisterdamen turns her head slightly toward where he’s standing, eyes narrowing and feet slowing down the barest amount. Tarvek knows he’s been spotted. In one smooth move he steps out of the shadows and neatly trips the girl.

Lady Vrin grabs Tarvek’s arm. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Tarvek doesn’t struggle in her hold. He doesn’t watch the other Geisterdamen drag the girl back to the machine. Instead he stares up at Lady Vrin, as tall and important as he can make himself. “The anti-distilment conversion ring is aligned wrong. It needs to be turned to the left another two times.”

“You are not your father,” she hisses.

Tarvek doesn’t flinch. “You’re right. I’m smarter.”

Lady Vrin narrows her eyes at him. But in the end she yells an order at her minions to turn the conversion ring.

This time when Vrin tosses the girl away her fingers are still twitching.

Tarvek stays in the room and continues watching everything he can.

* * *

 

Tarvek is fifteen.

Lady Vrin looks ready to kill her warriors. They’ve returned empty-handed again. They’ll find another girl. Eventually. Lady Vrin doesn’t care for that word.

“Castle Wulfenbach.”

Lady Vrin stops. She actually freezes mid-rant, a knife still held to one of her minion’s throats. “What.” The word is sharp, a demand and a threat in one.

“You need sparks right? The girl has to be a spark, preferably a strong one at that. Your warriors have already picked the countryside clean. Sure a few more will break through soon enough but surviving a breakthrough isn’t guaranteed. And even those who do, well, everyone knows female sparks are disappearing by now.”

Vrin is still staring at him. “And what does this have to do with Castle Wulfenbach?”

“Isn’t it obvious? All the powerful female sparks are already aboard Castle Wulfenbach and any girl who will break through will be tucked away or protected until the Baron can scoop up the ones with any real worth. If you really want to find someone your machine will actually have a hope of working on, you need to look there, not scouring through local farms.” He keeps tinkering at his work, body language completely absorbed in his project, excruciatingly careful not to let any tension show through. He’s done everything he can think of to sabotage the machine. Conversion rings turned twice when it should only be turned once, synapse grids that need twenty volts rather than twenty-five, anchoring coils that need another three centimeters of grounding, not just one. But his father keeps repairing it. No matter what Tarvek does, it will not stay broken. But if he can get them to attack Castle Wulfenbach, to get the Baron’s attention…

Vrin moves into Tarvek’s space, forcing him to stop working, forcing him to take a step back. Tarvek tries to make it a step to the side, make it not look like a retreat. He already knows it doesn’t work.

“<Search the countryside again. Find me a girl, any girl.>” She doesn’t stop looking at Tarvek even as she gives the order it. Tarvek’s overplayed his hand. And the Geisterdamen have long memories, Lady Vrin especially.

He’s just lost a very valuable piece, and gained nothing from it.

* * *

 

Tarvek is twenty.

Standing in the doorway of the lab, two half-crumpled letters clutched in his hand, it occurs to him that everything that has ever been offered to his family has been given to him.

Tarvek is the first-born son. Anevka is older, but only males inherit.

Tarvek is the one selected to go to Castle Wulfenbach. Anevka is left behind, not deemed important enough to hold over their father’s head.

Tarvek breaks through at nine. Anevka, four years his senior, still hasn’t shown any indication of being a spark.

Tarvek is given labs, given lectures, given resources. Anevka isn’t a spark; what use would someone like her ever have for such things?

Tarvek is allowed to go to Paris – everything he’s ever wanted, freedom in all forms. Anevka has to stay behind to attend to the family obligations.

The letters crumple in his fist. They had been sent so close together Tarvek had received them at the same time. He’d even read them out of order.

**Son,**

**You must return home at once. Your sister is dying. I’ve made a terrible mistake it wasn’t supposed to –**

**Darling Little Brother,**

**You’ll never guess who just finally broke through. That’s right, you’re not the only spark anymore. Don’t fret though brother, I’m certain you’ll be useful. After all someone has to minion for me and who better than another spark, especially one who already knows me so well…**

Anevka had finally gotten something for herself. And because of their family it’s going to kill her.

* * *

 

Tarvek is twenty.

He waits two weeks after Anevka dies before preparing to return to Paris. He tells himself he’s not abandoning his sister. He tells himself there’s no Anevka left to abandon. He doesn’t believe that lie any more than the first one.

He doesn’t bother to look up from his packing when Violetta appears in his doorway. “So when do we leave?” she asks.

“I leave day after tomorrow. You leave tonight.”

“You’re sending me back early to scout? It’s Paris, I’m sure your stupid little flat is fine.”

“I’m not sending you to scout. You’re going to Mechanicsburg. You’ll be staying there until told otherwise.”

“What!?” she yells. “What am I supposed to do there?”

            “Whatever you like. I don’t really care.”

            For a brief second it looks like Violetta’s going to try hitting him. Then she straightens and glares at him suspiciously. It’s always dangerous when she chooses thinking over violence. “The Baron cares about Mechanicsburg. Whatever you’ve got planned for is gonna get spotted before you even start. And then I’m going to have to drag your stupid butt out of it.”

Tarvek continues packing, purposefully nonchalant. “Then it’s a good thing for both of us I don’t have any plans to go to Mechanicsburg.”

Violetta seems to shrink in on herself as a realization sets in. All of the anger that she usually holds around herself flickers away for a moment, leaving her smaller than Tarvek’s ever seen her. “You’re sending me away.”

“Yes,” he lies. Or maybe it isn’t a lie. He can’t tell anymore.

“Are you afraid I’m going to tell the rest of the family something you don’t want them to know? Or do you just not want the family screw-up as your personal guard anymore? Is that it?”

“You can think whatever you want, so long as you do so from Mechanicsburg.”

Tarvek doesn’t react as Violetta’s anger returns and she heaps abuse on him. He doesn’t react as she yells and insults him. He doesn’t react when she tries to hide her tears with louder yelling and doesn’t quite succeed. He doesn’t react as she storms off. He doesn’t react as her transport takes her away.

Anevka is dead.

He’ll do better this time.

* * *

 

Tarvek is twenty-one.

The room is crowded, dimly lit and poorly maintained. It’s the last place Tarvek should be. He’s only just convinced Grandmother’s Smoke Knights he’s boring and unthreatening enough to ignore. (Technically they’re Grandfather’s knights but Tarvek’s not stupid, he knows where the real power is kept, knows which of them will survive should it come down to it. Grandmother is the real threat, not Grandfather.)

The wrenched ankle he’s been hiding for the last hour throbs. He leans against the body behind him and makes a show of taking the weight off his foot.

“We both know you’re not actually hurt,” Holzfäller says, even as he shifts to make it easier for Tarvek to lean on him, “stop being so melodramatic.”

“Seeing as you’re the reason I nearly got run over, I’ll be as melodramatic as I like. Where even are we anyway?”

“A place I like. They’ve got good drinks.” It should worry Tarvek that he didn’t notice Holzfäller’s acquiring of a drink. But the man has always had a skill at making alcohol appear out of seemingly nowhere and this night could definitely use it. When he reaches up to steal the glass Holzfäller refuses to let go of it. “I don’t think that would be the best idea. I tend to like my drinks stronger than you can you can probably handle. Or most sane people for that matter.”

There are a hundred things Tarvek should be doing right now. Spending time with Collette, taking advantage of the lack of security to talk to a few people he’d rather his family not know about, visiting the Great Library. One thing he certainly shouldn’t be doing is taking Holzfäller’s well-meaning warning as a challenge.

Tarvek wakes up the next morning and finds blue dye covering his clothes, a glowing mimmoth in his pocket and Gil perched on a nearby wall laughing his ass off.

So much for a low profile.

* * *

 

Tarvek is twenty-two.

It’s like a scene from a fairytale. A beautiful but poor young woman, dressed up in a beautiful gown, a charming prince smiling at her, the whole of his attention held captive by her. It’s a beautiful scene.

It’s also a lie.

Royal though he may be, Tarvek isn’t her prince. And no matter how beautiful and clever and captivating she is, this girl had not been brought here to become a princess. Although, the look in her eye suggests she already knows that. She’s too smart to trust him, to trust this. It won’t help her, but it doesn’t mean Tarvek can’t be impressed, nonetheless.

It’s ridiculous; he’s only just met her. She’s going to die. There is no future for them, even in his own head. There’s no future for her at all. He can’t feel something for her.

The truth is nothing like a fairytale. But just this once, Tarvek wishes it were.

* * *

 

Tarvek is twenty-two.

He stares at the hospital ceiling and wonders how he’s still alive.

In that split-second between getting shot and losing consciousness he thought his family’s game had finally beaten him. But he, apparently, is just lucky enough to still be here. And all it’s cost him is everything he ever had and possibly Agatha’s life.

Agatha.

Agatha Heterodyne.

She might be out there right now, preparing to claim her birthright. She might be far away, struggling to keep ahold of her mind. She might be trapped within herself. She might be gone forever.

And Tarvek has no idea which one is true.

He’d thought he’d be able to get her out before anything the worst could happen. When that failed, he’d thought he could get her back. If he was just clever enough, played the game well enough, he could win.

He thought loved her and he thought could save her. He’d been right and he’d been so very wrong.

Would she have been safe if he’d given her all his help from the beginning, rather than trying to play his family’s games with her?

She had to still be alive. Someone as smart as her, who fought as hard and as well as her wouldn’t simply lie down and die. Even the Baron and Lucrezia were only roadblocks to someone like her. They won’t have stopped her; they won’t have beaten her.

When he sees her again he’ll throw himself to her service. No games, no tricks, he will _help_ her this time, completely.

It’s a pretty, perfect promise to someone who isn’t here. Meaning nothing and good for just as much. He won’t be able to stop himself from scheming, from nudging the pieces, just a little bit, until they help him too. He can try, but he’ll sooner be able to stop breathing.

If he can’t promise her his unqualified trustworthiness, then perhaps his honesty instead. No lies, no deceptive flattery, no pretty little stories to make himself seem better. Whatever he knows he will tell her, whatever she asks, he will answer.   He’ll doubtless be dead when she learns of all he’s done, but at least then she’ll know how the game stands. Yes, that one he thinks he can do.

* * *

 

Tarvek is twenty-two.

He’s surrounded by Wulfenbach men and still woozy from poison and pain (not that he’s letting it show, he’s not stupid). But given that the last interaction he’d had with his family had been Tweedle’s more-efficient-than-usual assassination attempt, enemy territory is probably safer. Besides, Gil wants him alive, so for right now he has protection. Gil turns away to talk to someone, making sure, Tarvek notes, to keep Tarvek within grabbing reach. Tarvek takes advantage of the lull to sort out some of his less important thoughts. Clear out some of the mental clutter so he can devote more mental energy to fixing the world once Gil finishes mapping out what’s wrong with it.

He’s apparently twenty-four now. He’d looked through the scientists’ notes; he hadn’t aged while in the time-stop, but apparently part of the extraction process involved catching back up, as it were. So, technically speaking, twenty-four.

Not that his family needs to find out. He doubts Gil is exactly sharing any information on the time-stop with _them_. And two years one way or the other is hardly noticeable.

There are certain advantages that could be played with being twenty-two. There’s something romantic to it in a fairytale kind of way, which never hurts when building a sweeping narrative for his ascension to the throne. Agatha’s been missing all that time too, only just reappearing herself apparently not a day older herself. Remaining twenty-two would create one more connection between the two of them in the minds of the people. The lady and her king, both pulled out of time itself and then both brought back in such a short span of time, clearly meant to be together.

But then Gil will be older than him.

Tarvek is twenty-four.

* * *

 

Tarvek is twenty-four.

He is being dragged home to his family.

Gil will come after him. It’s a comfortingly useless lie to cling to. Gil might in fact be looking for him but he has an empire to run first and foremost, which means Tarvek’s on his own. It’s familiar territory to be in; a space Tarvek has long learned to navigate in.

He fights, because he wants to survive and returning to that pit of vipers is hardly conducive to survival; then, when he is beaten and caged and returned, relents, because he wants to survive and fighting now will only bring them down on his head.

He slips back into the game as easy as breathing. The goals may have changed some while he was out but the game itself hasn’t. Tweedle’s the current favorite, but that’s not likely to hold long. He’s not stupid. All he has to do is survive long enough for opinions to change and curry enough favor as he goes that it shifts in his direction when it does. He’s good at this part; he’s been doing it all his life.

Agatha’s still out there, in Paris itself if the gossip’s to be believed, working to free her city. Gil’s out there too, though god only knows where, scraping that empire of his back together. Tarvek doesn’t know what any of his family members’ angles currently are – a frighteningly dangerous position to be in – but he seriously doubts any of them have any good intentions towards either. (Well, maybe Seffie, but he somehow doubts Gil would take her affections as ‘good intentions’) Tarvek’s in no position to help them now. That will have to come later, after he’s clawed his way back to some semblance of standing, after he can escape again. For now, there’s a game to play.

Tarvek returns to his family with a hundred schemes already forming in his mind and a white-knuckle, bloody-snarl promise in his heart that he will burn his entire family to cinders before he lets any of this spill over onto those past him.

* * *

 

Tarvek is twenty-five.

He punches his assailant in the face and grins. He’s currently enjoying the never-before-experienced treat of being able to have his cake and eat it too. Not only is he able to express, rather violently, his grievance with the Baron for overwriting his own son’s mind ‘for his own protection’ but he gets to punch Gil repeatedly in the face secure in the knowledge that when this is all over Gil will thank him for it. He punches him again.

Tarvek blocks the retaliatory blow and hits him in the back of the head with his elbow. The Baron staggers, straight into Tarvek’s fist. Tarvek pulls back, graciously giving the Baron a chance to stand down before Gil gets even more hurt. Unsurprisingly he doesn’t take it.   Tarvek tries to dodge but he’s not fast enough and Gil’s fist connects with his jaw hard enough that the world goes white. He reaches out blindly and throws the Baron towards what should be the wall, hoping to buy himself some time. When his vision clears the Baron’s already picking himself back up.

The Baron turns, stalking towards him. “I always knew you’d become a danger to my son.” There is always something deeply unsettling about the Baron’s words coming out of Gil’s mouth. Tarvek’s been fortunate enough to experience it very little; he can only imagine how Agatha feels about it. Tarvek spits out a mouthful of blood and does his best to ignore the way his stomach churns. He can’t afford to get distracted. “But he could never see it. Apparently he still can’t.”

Tarvek bares his teeth in something too bloody and fierce to be considered a smile anymore. “Looks like you underestimated everyone.”

“He should have killed you, not saved you and set you free.” Tarvek wonders if it’s an admonishment or a command Gil managed to buck. He decides he doesn’t care. “ _I_ should have killed you.” He lashes out yet again, this time kicking the Baron in the stomach. No reason to break Gil’s nose. “Clearly you are a more dangerous threat than I’d thought if you’re able to control my son like this. Adjustments will have to be made on the overlay to ensure – Urk!” Gil will just have to deal with a broken nose. Tarvek doesn’t hold back any more. He doesn’t give the Baron any more chances to surrender. He pulls out every dirty trick he can think of, biting, scratching, aiming ruthlessly for eyes, throat, unprotected vial organs. He and Agatha can fix Gil later.

Finally, the Baron retreats, pulled away in increasingly resistant chunks until all that’s left is the tired, bloody, achingly familiar face of his oldest friend. Tarvek briefly considers punching him one last time. It’s what Gil would expect him to do. Except Gil’s already bleeding from more places than Tarvek can count.

“What did my father do this time?” is the first thing Gil asks. It’s the first time he sounds like he’s actually from a noble family. Tarvek bites back what might be a laugh or might be a sigh and slides down the wall.

“Tried to get to your medical dispersion unit, then kill me when I stopped him.” Gil winces. Between his ‘hidden prince’ upbringing and the Baron’s pathological investment in his physical safety Gil’s never really learned how intrinsically linked betrayal is to family. Well, Tarvek can keep an eye on him until he catches up.

“Of course he did.” He scrubs at his face and winces again, this time at the pain from his broken nose. “And I’m so beat up because…?”

“Well I had to stop him somehow.”

Gil slumps down next to Tarvek and drops his head onto Tarvek’s shoulder, closing his eyes. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

Tarvek lets his own head rest on top of Gil’s and savors the feeling of being completely vindicated.

* * *

 

Tarvek is twenty-five.

Gil makes it to the capital of Skifander before them.

He’s waiting for them when they arrive, standing at the main entrance talking happily with a green-haired warrior woman, not a scratch on him. Of course.

“Mother!” Zeetha calls, running forward toward the mystery woman. Agatha follows close on her heels.

“Gil!” she yells, flinging herself into his arms. Tarvek lets them have their moment, hanging back in order to better scope out their surroundings. There are far too many armed unknowns surrounding them for his liking. He positions himself carefully so as to block as many guards as he can and rearranges his jacket so the knife he has hidden in his sleeve is within easier reach. (Not actually visible in his hand though; he’s not stupid.) He catches Violetta’s eyes. She rolls hers but he doesn’t look away until he sees the barely there shift that means she’s readied her own blade as well.

Ahead of him the family reunion is dying down. _“Are you going to introduce me to everyone?”_ Queen Zantabraxis asks. She has an accent Tarvek can’t quite describe, except that it reminds him of the ringing of metal when a sword is violently pulled from its scabbard.

Zeetha beams and pulls Agatha even more forward. _“Mother, this is Agatha, my zumil.”_ She says proudly. Then with a sly smile she adds. _“And Gil’s universe.”_

Agatha bows her head. _“It’s nice to finally meet you. I know how much Zeetha’s missed you. And how important it’s been to Gil to see you.”_ The queen sweeps Agatha up into a hug without a trace of ceremony. Tarvek half listens as Gil introduces the others, focusing more on trying to get a read on the closest guards.

 _“And the one lounging in the back is Tarvek.”_ Tarvek snaps back to full attention as Gil loops an arm around his shoulders and nudges him forward. _“Don’t let him fool you, he’s occasionally not as much of an idiot as he looks.”_

She has Gil’s eyes. Belatedly he realizes that technically it’s Gil and Zeetha who have her eyes. But it’s still strange to see the same eyes that had promised childhood mischief, that have gotten him into trouble and out of danger, in this woman’s face. He’s being introduced to Gil’s family. There’s an importance here that if he wasn’t so damaged he thinks he might be able to understand.

Straightening his back and summoning every drop of courtly training he has Tarvek bows, low and formal, because this is the queen of this land and because this is Gil’s _mother._ _“Greetings, Your Majesty. It is an honor to meet you.”_ Everything falls deathly silent.

Half a second after the words leave his mouth Tarvek realizes that he’s just greeted her in Skifanderian. Which he has no right to know. Zeetha’s lessons on her people’s opinions of outsiders flash through his head. Tarvek’s thoughts race as he scrambles for a plan to fix things before anyone, probably him, is killed.

Then Queen Zantabraxis laughs. The next moment Tarvek finds himself swept into a tight hug. He’s so surprised it takes him a full second to think to move his knife. The queen must catch him – either the movement or the feel of the blade – because when she pulls back she laughs again, much more knowing than the first. _“You’re a paranoid one aren’t you? But protective in your own way, I should think.”_ She pulls away completely and gives Agatha a warm smile before returning to Gil.

 _“You chose well,”_ she says to him. Then she spins around and claps her hands together. _“Come, let’s get you all settled. There are a couple extra rooms in the private family quarters near Gil’s. Not that you actually have to use them but it’s always best to have extra private space with two so brightly gifted ones._ Sparks _was I think the word Chump used to use for it.”_          As she begins herding them all into building Violetta grabs his arm. “What just happened?”

Tarvek blinks dumbly. “I think Agatha and I just got adopted into the royal family.”

* * *

 

Tarvek is twenty-six.

His family trades in death. They always have.

And the most traded commodity has always been themselves.

Tarvek grew up in this world. He’s never been a stranger to death. He lost his sister to it. His mother. His father. Countless cousins and aunts and uncles. Huge swathes of his family wiped away by the family pastime. He’s not sure then why it surprises him this time.

He doesn’t even care that they’re dead. It’s not like if it was Violetta, where the killer would be slowly dying of poison within the week. It’s not like if it was Agatha or Gil, where the world would already be burning.   Or even like it was with his sister, where he had to convince himself. He honestly does not care that any of these people are dead.

So why is he finding it so hard to walk away?

There are things he needs to be doing. The rest of his family is undoubtedly scrambling right now. He has to find them, reestablish his position, make sure they won’t turn against him.

He still doesn’t move.

“Tarvek?” Tarvek turns at the sound of his name. Agatha stands a few steps away. She shouldn’t be here. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Everyone’s fine.” Agatha glances around at the dead bodies surrounding them that rather clearly contradict his statement. “Everyone important is fine,” he amends. He half expects Agatha to get mad at him for the callous dismissal of the lives at his feet. Gil would have. Maybe that’s why he said it like he did. Agatha doesn’t get angry though. Instead she slowly picks her way over to him. Even being careful there’s no way to avoid all the blood on the floor.

“They’re still your family.”

“They were,” he agrees. They’re not anything anymore though. Just dead. “I need go. Get the new lay of the land, see if any of our allies are still with us and convince them if they’re not. I can think of a few cousins who aren’t here that, if they’re still alive, could pose a problem.”

Agatha’s shoulders straighten. He can see her gathering up the title of Lady Heterodyne around her as she nods. Her face doesn’t loose any of its softness. Tarvek almost wishes it would. She cups his face, thumb stroking his cheek. “There’s one of Gil’s fleets waiting outside. The Nineteenth, it’s one we can trust. Take them with you. They’ll keep you safe. I’ll handle things here before I return to Mechanicsburg. Come back to me. As soon as you can. And if you take too long one of us will come get you.” Her arms wrap around him, pulling him into a hug. Tarvek buries himself in her hair, buries himself into the gentle words she murmurs to him. He lets Agatha take his hands, lets her lead him away from the blood and death surrounding them.

* * *

 

Tarvek is twenty-seven.

All Hail the Storm King.

The cheer rings out throughout the courtyard. Throughout the town and out into the fields. Throughout the next town over, and the one past it, and the ones past that. Throughout all of Europa. Throughout all of Gil’s empire. All of Agatha’s empire. All of his empire.

He is the Storm King.

It is not an inheritance, not a claim, not something in contention. It is a fact.

He is the Storm King.

It’s strange, whenever he’d thought about this moment he’d always imagined it would happen amidst great ceremony. Instead it is small, nearly unmarked. The only real difference is that from now on he’ll forever be Your Majesty and not Your Highness. He’ll still spend the day dealing with the same problems he would have otherwise.

That’s another thing; he’d always thought that being crowned Storm King would be the end. Yes he’d still have a kingdom to run, but the fighting, the struggle, would be over. When he was younger, becoming king had been like the ending in a storybook. Finding a spark girl he could love and presenting her as the Heterodyne heir had been a touching but ultimately frivolous epilogue. Even after he met Agatha he’d pictured their wedding as a part of his coronation. Agatha beside him as his queen, resplendent in her glory; Gil next to them bowing, a smirk at the corner of his lips completely stripping the action of its reverence. It would mark the beginning of a new golden age of peace. Well that certainly isn’t happening yet. There’s still the Other to vanquish and Agatha’s head to fix and a dozen petty rebellions to put down.

“Congratulations. You actually did it.” Tarvek spins around to see Violetta standing just inside the doorway.

“Violetta? Why aren’t you with Agatha?”

“I am. She and Gil are just outside.” But Gil’s supposed to be putting down that army of giant wave-imps and Agatha’s busy reorganizing forces in the south. Violetta must read his panic because she cuts him off before he can do more than open his mouth. “Relax. The world’s not ending any more than usual.”

“Then why are they here?” Violetta smiles, looking smug and weirdly proud, and sketches a half bow at him. It’s less respectful than she really should be given that he’s now king, but it’s more genuine than he can ever remember from her.

“They wanted to be the first to officially pay their respects and offer their friendship to the new Storm King.” She grabs his hand and tugs him forward. “So come on Your Majesty, they’re waiting.”

* * *

 

Tarvek is twenty-seven.

Throughout the years Lucrezia has been many things.

She’d been his father’s obsession. (A more sentimental man might say she was his love but Tarvek doubts his father had actually been capable of the emotion.) Through his obsession had come Anevka’s death.

She’d taken Agatha, if only briefly.

When Tarvek had tried to get Agatha back, to play the game, maneuver around Lucrezia, she’d been the one to beat him at it. She’d twisted him around like a wind-up doll, and he’d given her everything she wanted, everything he could, without even realizing he wasn’t getting anything back. She’d been the one he’d helped rather than Agatha, no matter what his oh-so-precious schemes had been.

She’d taken away everything he had.

She’d been the greatest mistake Tarvek had ever made.

She’d been Klaus’ obsession, if in a very different way than Aaronev.

She’d been the Other, can’t forget that one.

She’d nearly destroyed all of Europa. She’d cost Gil sleep and troops and airships. She’d cost Agatha peace of mind and family history and the chance to grow into her role without fighting. She’d cost Tarvek his home and his blood and probably some piece of his soul.

And now she was… gone.

Tarvek rechecks his calculations for a third time. Then a forth. They continue to add up. She’s really gone. He looks up. Agatha’s pushed herself up on the slab, hair still faintly crackling with electricity. Gil’s standing next to her playing perfect minion. Tarvek opens his mouth to tell them she’s gone – done attacking them, done taking whatever she wants, done destroying everything – then promptly shuts it again. Lucrezia is gone; why give her this consideration?

So instead, when he hands the results over to Agatha he says, “You can take your locket off, if you want to.”

* * *

 

Tarvek is twenty-seven.

The outfit he’s wearing is increasingly uncomfortable. It never was very comfortable to start with – fashion isn’t supposed to be – but now it chafes and rubs and pulls, irritating every inch of his skin. Gil’s jacket hangs off the nearby chair and Tarvek knows his waistcoat is similarly discarded somewhere out of immediate sight. Agatha is still wearing all her finery, but has hitched her skirts up into something that would be between ridiculous and scandalous should anyone see her.

They’ve got maybe ten minutes, fifteen at the most, before they need to reappear. Slipping away from his own wedding isn’t something Tarvek ever thought he’d do, but he also never expected the ceremony to take literal days. It’d been just as a rather long ritual involving some of Mechanicsburg’s bigger monsters had started that Gil had pulled them into a tiny nearby room. There’s not in it of interest except for the large couch, which they’d all piled on top of for the promise of a much needed nap.

Small, delicate fingers start tracing patterns on his chest, following the embroidery of his waistcoat. He looks to see Agatha awake, if still adorably sleep-rumbled. Below her Gil is still asleep. Tarvek grabs her hand and begins pressing kisses to each of her fingers. Agatha giggles. He can see the way she tries to stifle them so as to not wake Gil. In response Tarvek kisses the ticklish spot on the inside of her wrist. Agatha pulls her hand away with another muffled giggle. When he moves to follow it she reverses its direction, snaking her arm around his neck and burying her fingers in his hair.

“So does this count as our wedding night?” Tarvek thinks about it for a moment. It is technically night, or at least early enough morning to still be pitch black. And the part of the ceremony that involved their vows to each other has already happened.

“No,” Gil’s voice says before Tarvek can answer. Apparently he’s awake, though his eyes are still closed. “If we have to go through this entire song and dance of a wedding then we are damn well getting a proper wedding night.”

They’ve got maybe five minutes, ten at the most, before they need to reappear. Tarvek glances at Gil’s half-dressed state, Agatha’s partially destroyed skirts and his own crumpled clothing. Everyone’s going to assume they slipped away for something much more passionate than a nap. Well, there are far worse rumors they could have on their wedding day.

* * *

 

Tarvek is twenty-nine.

The tunnels under Sturmhalten needs to be cleared out. And the castle itself has to be emptied. The furniture should really be burned to be safe. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, the whole place should really be gutted. Too many hidden passages and secret hidey-holes to reliably block off all of them. And the tunnels are probably worse. Of course, given how large they are it will undoubtedly destabilize the ground the town sits on. That could be a good thing. The people who live in Sturmhalten had been there during his father’s rule. There’s no telling how many of them have agendas. Best to get them far away now. Except then they’ll be out of sight and able to plot something without anyone knowing. No large groups then, scatter them over the empire, close to soldiers and trusted spies. No tunnels, no castle, no town. But given his family’s predilection towards biological and chemical science there’s still no guarantee of safety. Bombing. If you mixed the right chemicals together with a time delayed incendiary component–

The door opens, and Tarvek looks up, half-hoping for Agatha or Gil or maybe Violetta or Krosp, or even Zeetha or Dupree. Instead Klaus stands in the doorway, blinking in surprise.

“I didn’t mean to –”

Tarvek waves off his attempt to leave. “It’s fine.” Tarvek’s the one who chose to plan in a sitting room rather than his lab or office. Klaus steps into the room his guard only a step behind him. Today his ever-present shadow is Witold, who Tarvek recognizes as Gil’s occasional sparing partner and a jäger with more brains than most of his brothers. Tarvek returns to his notes, keeping part of his focus on tracking Klaus as easy as breathing. Klaus leans over and peers at his notes.

“Who are you going to trust to carry out these orders?” Tarvek resists the urge to swear. Because Klaus has a point, there isn’t anyone he can trust this to. He starts scribbling furiously, trying to prioritize. “May I make a suggestion?” Klaus asks. Tarvek makes a vague noise that could be construed as consent. “Don’t run.”

“What?”

“You want to make the world safe for your child. Everything becomes dangerous and any danger becomes a threat and any threat becomes an unacceptable risk. So you move the world, tear it down and reshape it as much as you can. You make concessions and you leave your child for later because the whole point is to make sure they survive to have a later. But it never will be enough.”

Tarvek freezes. He can’t even imagine not being there when his child is born, of not being there to love them. He would neglect the empire, let his smaller duties be shuffled off onto underlings, possibly not let his child anywhere near Sturmhalten for years. He’d sooner try to resurrect the Other than willingly abandon his child, even for a second.

But the first part does sound almost frighteningly familiar. He looks back down at his notes with clearer eyes. “You may have something of a point somewhere in there.”

“I know what it’s like to be the worst part of your family.”

“As of two years and one very long ceremony you’re technically a part of my family, so I think that that title is still solely yours.”

Before Klaus can say anything the castle choses to interrupt. “KLAUS! I HAVE A MESSAGE FOR YOU!” it says, loud enough to physically shake the room. “I hate to interrupt,” it continues, not sounding sorry at all, “But Queen Zantabraxus is asking after you.” Klaus abruptly looks panicked.

Tarvek folds up his notes. “Castle, where are Agatha and Gil?”

“The Mistress is in the hall with von Meckkhan and Gilgamesh is in the main lab lecturing some of the minions on child proofing.”

“Thank you.” He tucks the notes into his coat and turns toward the still twitchy Klaus. “If I may make a suggestion? Don’t run.” It’s amazing how much like Gil Klaus looks when absolutely gobsmacked.

Stifling a laugh, Tarvek slips out into the hall and goes to find his family.


End file.
